Hindsight
by halleyjo
Summary: Grudgingly, Jack raised the little girl, but all the while he could think only of ways to be rid of her. He tolerated her, but he did not care for her. He watched out for her, but he did not love her. Hopefully a different 'Jack has a daughter' plot.
1. Chapter 1

_Hindsight _

Grudgingly, Jack raised the little girl, but all the while he could think only of ways to be rid of her. He tolerated her, but he did not care for her. He watched out for her, but he did not love her. Hopefully a different twist from the 'Jack has a daughter' storyline…

Disclaimer: The standard rules apply—I don't own anything canon that you might recognize from _Pirates of the Caribbean_. Now then, a bit of a note—the first three chapters (and two pages of the fourth chapter) of this story were written by me, **Jinxeh**, but the rest will be written by **halleyjo**, who decided to take the story over when I lost inspiration, hence the reason it's on halleyjo's account instead of my own. Go halleyjo! NOTE: I'd like to thank the amazingly awesome **obliviongates** for beta-reading the first four chapters of this fic for me. She rocks!

Note: The woman in the first chapter is based loosely on Arabella, from the _Jack Sparrow_ children's book series—I actually was going to have it _be_ Arabella, but I've only read the first two books, and didn't want to abuse canon in terms of her future. Also, I didn't want anyone who _hasn't_ read the _Jack Sparrow_ books to be deterred from reading this story for fear of missing something—you don't have to have read those books in order to understand this, I assure you. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

The normally dusty streets of Tortuga had been transformed into mucky pathways of mud and grime by the recent rainstorms that had so viciously assaulted the island, and yet it did nothing to impede the drunken nighttime excitement that the pirating town was most known for. Although a steady drizzle of rain continued to fall from above, everyone went along with their business as they normally would; the wenches prostituted with as much fervor as ever, the drunks chased after the wenches with sluggish cheer, and the men and women working themselves ragged at the taverns sold rum to all those that had the gold for it.

In the midst of the usual chaotic mess that was a night in Tortuga, it was all-too-easy for anyone to overlook one or two strange people that walked the muddy streets. A man with a sorrowful expression, dressed in rags and holding his hands out for spare coins was something that anyone who had lived in Tortuga for a small while instinctively ignored; it was commonplace, really. Another man, perhaps dressed in less raggedly clothing but with a bottle of rum gripped tightly in his hand as he shouted obscenities to the sky was never much of a surprise, either.

But a young woman dressed in clothing that gave even rags a bad name, clutching at the hand of a much younger girl as she pulled her through the muddy streets and the rain? Well, it was fair to say that such an occurrence was a bit rarer in nature. Anyone who had the audacity to attempt to raise children in a place like Tortuga at least had the common sense to keep them tucked away safely in their homes at night, when the mess and the turmoil was at its peak.

But this woman, with her emaciated features and threadbare clothing, was dragging her own child along in the middle of the night, and right past—and sometimes through—the crowds of people laughing and drinking outside of the various buildings as though she had not a care in the world. Her expression, written so firmly upon her pale face, was determined; her eyes, dark and sunken, gave not even the slightest indication that the goings-on all around were of concern to her. When drunken men leered at her and snatched for her skirts when she went by them, she had nothing but an impatient huff and a glare in their direction in which to respond to them, and then she would be off again, still pulling her child along at a breakneck speed.

The only signal this strange woman gave in which to imply that she was concerned about the ruffians she was fighting her way through as she struggled through the mud was the way that she held her child—she had the girl's hand in a grip so tight that her knuckles had almost turned white, and she didn't dare to let go. The child, on her part, was doing little or nothing to stop this; she seemed content to allow her mother to steer her wherever she pleased, and said not a word about it.

Of course, perhaps when eyes went to this strange pair of people, it was the girl that drew the most attention, though not for reasons that would suggest attraction. She was young, looking to barely be ten, if even that, and her own state of being was more deplorable than that of her mother. Whereas her mother seemed emaciated, the girl was absolutely withered; her cheekbones stuck out sharply, throwing her light-colored eyes into even more of a sunken shadow than was normal for one in poor health. Dark rings and circles adorned the skin under her eyes, and her thin lips blended in almost completely with her pale skin, being almost white in color.

Of course, at times it took people a double glance in order to see that the child was even a girl. Her stick-like figure, even at her young age, would suggest otherwise, in accordance to her noticeably short hair. From the look of things, and as far as anyone could possibly guess, her mother had grown impatient and had chopped her hair off with a knife or sword; it hung in extremely uneven strands around her ears and in front of her eyes, the longest strands of which didn't even manage to reach her chin. This was quite a dissimilarity from her mother, who had long brown hair, though it was greasy and unkempt from her apparent lack of washing it.

Whereas the woman dragging her child along had such an air of urgency and determination—something that made most of the men a little hesitant to leer at her as they once did when they finally noticed it—the child's expression was blank, as though it was a plain white canvas waiting for someone to decorate it with something of their own design. Her light eyes showed nothing; not even a speck of sentiment. If she heard what it was that her mother was saying to her as she was pulled along, she made no attempt to respond to her.

"Almost there, love," her mother whispered in a weak, wheezing voice, her grip on her child's hand tightening as she ducked around a corner and skirted a dirty old man that stuck a hand out for the edge of her ratty old brown cloak. "He'll take care a' you, I know he will…"

Her voice did not hold the conviction that would have otherwise been required in order to make her statement seem entirely true, but if the girl took notice of this she didn't have a reaction to show for it. She settled for blinking her eyes bemusedly as she nearly stumbled in the mud, almost losing her shoe—which wasn't difficult, since her shoes were nothing but strips of leather for the bottom, sewn to thinner pieces of worn brown fabric to form the tops and sides. It matched well with her tattered brown and black dress, which, by now, was smudged with mud all over the long bottom skirt.

"'Ey!" A man called out to the woman warningly, stepping in front of her with a bit of a sluggish grin on his unshaven face. "'Ow much?"

"Get _away_!" the woman snarled, brushing him aside with such force that he stumbled back a few steps, scowling. "Come now, Ellie, mustn't dawdle…" she continued as though her brief encounter with the man had never happened, pulling the girl along and making her duck around another corner. By now, the woman was coughing slightly and under her breath, her free hand raised so that the edge of her torn and muddy sleeve covered her mouth.

"Momma…" The girl's voice was so light that the woman didn't even hear it at first. "Momma, you're still coughin'…"

It was as though the little girl's mouth moved of its own accord; her expression did not change and her emotionless eyes stayed the same, but the words came from between her lips nevertheless.

"I know, dearest…" the woman coughed again, but tried to sound stronger than before. "Don't worry…everything's gonna be fine, you hear me? Ellie? You _hear_ me?"

"Yes, momma…" the girl whispered, hanging her head and choosing not to speak again. When her mother saw that her gaze was directed down to the ground as she was pulled along, she lowered her sleeve, wiping the blood that had been splattered upon it from her cough on the side of her dress so that it mixed with the mud, and disappeared from sight. That was the last thing that she needed her daughter to see, that blood…

"There!" the mother croaked, pulling her daughter to her side and stopping her in the street, putting her arms around her so that she could not move. "I told you we'd find it…I told you, everything's going to be all right…" she sighed, and began walking again, this time at a much slower pace, and with her child right beside her. She could breathe now that she had found her destination; she could calm down now that she was about to enter the tavern known as _The Faithful Bride_.

—xXx—

_The Faithful Bride_ was not, by far, a very pleasant place for anyone to be, and it most certainly was no place for a child, especially when it was as rowdy and unruly as it was on this rainy night. And yet…as soon as this determined mother fought past the group of laughing and stumbling people that had been blocking the doors, she seemed to relax, in a way, and was soon leaning back against the far wall with her small child, breathing heavily and almost gasping for air as her dark eyes raked the scene.

She squinted her eyes, wondering if it was just the dim lighting of the tavern that was preventing her from seeing things properly. But no…dim lighting wouldn't have accounted for her seeing double, now would it? When a tall, skinny woman in a maroon dress stumbled past her, she had to shake her head and force herself to concentrate just to prove to herself that the woman did not have a twin.

Soon, she knew, she was going to be too late to go on with her plans, and then what would happen? She shuddered at the thought, and instinctively her free hand reached into the deep pocket of her worn brown cloak and patted the folded-over piece of parchment that resided there, reassuring herself that it was still there, and safe. She took a deep breath, ignoring the stinging pain assaulting her lungs and the darkness that was beginning to cloud her vision, steadying herself.

"He has to be here…" she muttered after a moment, then shaking her head and pulling Ellie along as she strode towards the bar. If anyone had cared to pay them much notice, despite their muddy and exhausted-seeming exteriors, they might have noticed how the woman had a hand placed lightly on her heaving chest or how the girl, as fast as she was being forced along, walked with a very noticeable limp in her right leg; she was almost dragging it, at any rate.

"Excuse me," she managed to croak, resisting the urge to cough once more as she reached the front counter and pushed her way past several short and stout men in the process. A rather portly woman stood behind the counter, her dress vibrant and yellow in color, and with a neckline that was so low it almost made the mother cringe just to have to look at her. "Miss, does Nathaniel Brodruck still own this establishment? Is he still here?"

The way that this woman spoke made the barmaid look at her in interest for a moment, and no one could have blamed her. Her dialect was strange; it was as though she had been raised in a way that was prim and proper, and then dumped in a place where they barely used real English. Her voice was clipped and sure, and yet so primitive, in its own way…

"Yes, he still owns it," the portly woman replied with a shrug, taking some of the empty glasses and tin mugs off of the counter—and wrenching one out of the hand of a man who had simply fallen asleep there—before facing her again. "Why you askin'?" This time, there was more suspicion in her voice. "Spots are filled, ma'am. We don't need more girls here, I know that fer a fact."

"I'm not lookin' for a job," said the mother in a weak sort of exasperation. "I just need to speak with Nathaniel. Please, could you tell him I'm here? It's most urgent; please, I _beg_ of you…"

Perhaps it was the woman's downright grungy and pathetic appearance that made the barmaid sigh and nod her head, for she did so and was gone a moment later, disappearing through a small door in the wall behind the counter and calling the name of her boss. The other woman sighed in relief, drawing her child closer to her and almost covering her with the front of her cloak, shielding her from view of the others crowding in the tavern.

"It'll be all right…" she whispered again, her voice low and hoarse, but also sure and determined. She'd made her way by land, then ship, then land again to Tortuga just for this and now, as she felt her last breath leaving her, she felt a little more at ease to know that she had finally made it. She wouldn't allow herself to fall to the ground and succumb to the darkness just yet; not until she saw him…

Alas; it seemed that her will was not as strong as her mind would have led her to believe, for even as she thought this, her knees felt weak and her chest became tight; she could barely breathe for the constricted feeling creeping up from her lungs and spreading to the rest of her chest. She wanted to cough—_oh_, how she wanted to cough—but she couldn't manage even that. It did nothing to stop the blood, however, and so had to force herself to ignore the steady streams of the thick red substance that had crept up her throat and were attempting to fight past her lips.

Surprisingly, it was mere moments later that the portly barmaid in the yellow dress appeared again, this time with a man right at her heels, who was struggling to put a threadbare, but still rather respectable jacket on over his clothing.

He was a tall man; massive, even, but lean, and even in his rather old age he was fit. His hair was gray, true enough, matching with his short and scraggly beard and mustache, and his eyes had the crinkles in the corners, just as she remembered. His clothing, a white shirt and dark breeches, had not diverged much from the style that she remembered, either. When he saw her, however, the look of annoyance that had been on his face increased, though the suspicion in his eyes suggested that he did not recognize her.

"What d'you want?" he asked gruffly, looking her up and down and taking in her downright squalid appearance. His eyes lingered over the little girl whose face was just barely visible, peering out at him from behind her mother's cloak, but a moment later his attention returned to the woman, and his frown increased threefold. "We ain't hirin', y'know. Sides…you don't really got the…attributes…required for the job, sorry to tell you…"

This almost made the woman smile, even though she fully realized that he was insulting her. It was rather sad to think about, but she had almost missed the constant insults that had once flown out of his mouth only to find their ways to her ears. She had been only sixteen years old when she left him, but even then he'd been quick to judge her; as her boss, as her elder…and always, as her father.

"Father…" She couldn't help what happened; she tried to step forward even as her last ounce of strength left her, and when her lips parted a fair amount of blood came issuing forth from between her teeth, staining the front of her dress. Her father, when he saw this, gasped in disgust and stepped back, a hand clamped over his mouth as though to protect himself. He may not have recognized his daughter, as covered in mud and grime as she was now when compared to the immaculate girl she once was, but he recognized a sickness when he saw it.

And then, when his mind finally wrapped around the single word that had been uttered from her thin-lipped mouth, his eyes went wide and he inhaled sharply—and then his eyes only went wider when she stumbled forward and shuddered, pitching forward as she lost consciousness, and slamming the side of her head against the front of the counter with a sickening _crack_.

"_Celia!_"

—xXx—

Sometimes, Nathaniel Brodruck wondered why he had been dealt such a strange hand at life. He lost his wife to a pirate raid when his daughter, Celia, was only a young child…and then, when Celia had been just barely sixteen years old, she had run away from him and his tavern, _The Faithful Bride_, and all for that dirty street-rat urchin that went by the name of Jack Sparrow…

And now, he was left to stare down at the patch of recently disturbed dirt that made the surface of his daughter's grave long after the hired gravediggers had left. Celia's daughter—and his granddaughter, he now supposed—stood beside him, as silent and brooding as she had been since her mother had died barely a day beforehand. He didn't dare to take her hand, or offer her any sort of consolation; he couldn't bring himself to. He couldn't even bring himself to look at her anymore. Whenever he did, he only saw Celia looking back at him.

He thought, at first, that the young girl named Ellie was so silent and grim because the death of her mother had traumatized her, but then he found out differently. In the short and to-the-point letter Celia had written him, which now settled itself in a slightly crumpled way in his hand, he found that she had been sick for a long while—she had come to him because she _knew_ she was dying. The consumption had taken over her body. She came to him in the hopes that her daughter would be taken care of.

As he sighed again, and looked down upon the freshly-dug and refilled grave, his grip on the letter in his hand loosened, and soon it was only a slight gust of wind that was able to remove it from his hand, and send it fluttering amongst the dry bushes and such that lined the small clearing nestled between the low cliffs surrounding the pirating town. He didn't try to go after it; it didn't matter. He had it committed to memory, by now, and had relished in its writings. Celia, even as a young child, had loved the written word and had immersed herself in learning to speak and write like a proper young lady, even if that was never what she really was…

_Dearest Father, _

_I realize that the circumstance in which this letter has reached you was most likely unconventional, and I apologize for it. As I write this, I am unsure if I shall even be alive when you read it. My only hope is that Ellie manages to find you safely, even if it is not by my own hand that she does. I haven't long, but she has a full life ahead of her—I fear what will happen if she is left to her own devices now, when she is so young._

_Please take care of her, Father, and try to understand her behavior. It won't be easy, and I cannot lie to you about this. I've yet to meet a girl quite like her; so serious and unspeaking, and with a brooding sort of sullenness about her. Please don't treat her harshly as you did me. It isn't her fault that she's different, and it's nothing to do with her injury that she is. I have no will to explain to you what happened to her; perhaps with time, she'll tell you herself, should you gain her trust. _

_I realize that by now, there is no way to tell you that I am sorry to have left you like I did…but at the time, I felt as though I had no other choice. I cannot pretend that I was happy here. I was a young girl being forced to work in the same tavern that, when I was young, I watched my mother being taken away from me in. Jack Sparrow offered me a chance to leave Tortuga and embark on an adventure, and with the possibility of a better life. He presented to me the opportune moment, and I took it. I can't say I'm sorry, and I won't._

_You're an intelligent man, Father. Look at the shape of your granddaughter's eyes, and try convincing yourself that Jack Sparrow is not her father. Look at her hair. Look at those tricky, thieving little hands of hers. I know you despise pirates, but you're going to have to come to terms with the fact that her father is one. Jack doesn't know. At least, I don't think he does. At the time I realized I was with child, he was already gone again—off to find his ship on which his crew mutinied against him on. Even after those years passed since it happened, he was still adamant in reclaiming his boat. Recently, I've heard rumors that he's managed to get it back, though I cannot confirm this for myself since I have not spoken to him since before Ellie was born. _

_Then again, with the rumors flying about, about the sea-turtles, a Kraken, and even the legendary Davy Jones that also seem to revolve around Jack, who knows what about him is true anymore?_

_I know that, like any pirate, he will be soon to show his face in Tortuga once more. If he does and you should happen upon him…I beg of you to tell him about Ellie. If not, then keep a sharp eye out for him. He deserves to know, if he does not already._

_I hope to goodness that I can be the one to tell you these things myself, but chances are if you're reading this letter, then I am quite unable to. I love you, Father, even if you might think otherwise. I thought I should say that now, before I run out of room on the parchment. _

_Take care of Ellie. She's your flesh and blood too, and I know that if you try, you can love her just as much as I do._

_Your loving daughter,_

—_Celia _

"Lovin' daughter…" he mumbled under his breath, shaking his head and bowing it against the slight wind coming at him. "A _lovin' daughter_ wouldn't abandon her father for a no-good _street_-rat."

If Ellie had any sort of reaction to hearing her father being referred to as a no-good street-rat, she didn't have a word to say about it.

—xXx—

_BLAM!_

The screech of the tiny monkey reverberated throughout the ship following the sound of gunfire, causing those crewmembers who were still awake enough to hear it to wince and cover their ears. Those who actually had managed to fall asleep were awake again in an instant anyway, left to sit up in their hammocks and look around with bleary eyes as they searched for the source of the sound.

"_Gibbs_! Gibbs, get yer sorry rear up 'ere an' _help me kill this thing!_"

Upon hearing this obviously agitated call from their captain directed to their first mate, those who had been awakened by the sounds of gunfire and monkey screeches were then left to roll their eyes and fall back into slumber once more. Their captain's quarrels with the undead monkey were something commonplace, by now, and there was nothing surprising about it. It was good for drunken entertainment on a slow night, sure, but after a while, it did manage to get old…

"Jack!" called Mr. Gibbs warningly, stumbling up the steps due to his own haste, and finding himself up on the main deck, looking around wildly for his no-doubt inebriated pirate captain. "Jack, I already _told_ yeh—it's no use tryin' to kill it if it's already _dead_!"

It was dark upon the deck of the great black ship known as the _Black Pearl_; the lamps seemed to have been extinguished, leaving him in almost complete darkness but for the weak light of the half-moon that shone down from above. This left Joshamee Gibbs having to stumble around as though drunk—which was frustrating since, for once, he wasn't— his hands stretched out before himself as he tried to feel his way around the ship.

_BLAM!_

Gibbs shouted and instinctively jumped back when a gun went off only a few feet in front of him, and only a moment later something small and fuzzy ran right past him and towards the mizzenmast—which was quickly followed by a wildly flailing Jack, who had his gun aimed high and was doing his best to keep up with the furry little creature.

"Jack!" Gibbs called again, spinning around on his heels and running after his captain. "Jack, it's no _use_!"

"If I can shoot his 'ead off, we can catch it!" Jack panted, stopping short of the mizzenmast and squinting upwards. "If we can catch it, we can tie it to a cannonball and _throw_ it into the sea! _Voila_—no more undead monkey!"

"Jack…" this time Gibbs was groaning in pure frustration, burying his face in his grubby hands and shaking it sadly. "Just let it _go_, already…"

It was apparent that after all that had happened to Jack after the 'incident' with the Kraken, there were only a few things that he was left to be disappointed with. The loss of Elizabeth to Will was one—though it was nothing a visit with the whores hadn't managed to fix up, in the end—but the main disappointment that just refused to let him be was that no matter if he had managed to be rid of Barbossa courtesy of some nasty tricks given to him by Tia Dalma…the undead monkey remained, immortal and all. Tia Dalma hadn't even seemed to mind that the monkey had left her home and remained with him on the ship, instead. The primate was of a constant source of irritation to Jack, and it was all that Mr. Gibbs could do to make sure that his captain didn't get himself killed as he incessantly attempted to destroy it.

"Never!" Jack spat, cocking his gun and closing one eye, aiming haphazardly upwards, perhaps hoping that he would hit the creature by pure chance. "'Old _still_, you _stupid_ little—"

"Land ho!"

Gibbs looked up as the strong voice proclaiming the promise of land sounded from above, and in the darkness he barely saw an unshaven and incredibly nervous-looking face peering down at them from the crow's nest. At first, of course, he assumed that the middle-aged man had spouted those words out of fear and to distract Jack from his vendetta against the monkey—there was a rather good chance that Jack would have accidentally shot him, since he was aiming his gun that way—but when he returned his gaze to the deck and then to the open waters before him, he saw that was not to be true. It was 'land ho', indeed.

He could barely see it, but it was there all the same; the glimmer of lights coming from the pirating community, visible even from the small number of miles that they were from shore, especially in the darkness. Most captains knew better than to sail at night, especially on one so calm—it made the spotting of coral and sandbars more difficult to spot without breaking water at their bases—but, to be fair, Jack Sparrow didn't exactly fit into the mold that sculpted _most_ captains…

"Oh?" asked Jack, blinking his eyes in bemusement and whirling around on his feet, peering into the distance and squinting his kohl-outlined eyes. A moment later he smiled, fitting his gun back into his belt and sauntering away from the mizzenmast as though the monkey had never even existed, never mind been his target less than a minute ago. "Excellent! Wake the crew, and prepare them to make berth! Mr. Gibbs!"

"…yes, cap'n?"

"Prepare the cargo hold! We need more room for rum!"

"…of course, cap'n…" was Mr. Gibbs's tired reply, and after a wary glance upward in effort to spot the monkey, he eventually shrugged and walked away, headed for the stairwell that would take him below deck. Jack chose to ignore the inane mumblings that Gibbs had to offer under his breath, and instead kept smiling as he made his way up the steps leading to the main platform, where his wheel stood waiting for him, along with Cotton and his parrot, who he had directed to steer it while he chased the monkey around.

A quick and dismissing wave of his hand was all Jack needed to shoo Cotton away from the wheel, and the older man was gone an instant later, and with the squawk of "Wind in the sails! Wind in the sails!" coming from his accursed bird. Jack stuck his tongue out at Cotton's retreating back, and although this gesture was aimed mostly for the bird, he could have sworn that the man himself stiffened, perhaps having been able to catch this sight from the corner of his eye as he turned and went down the steps.

"All right, then…" Jack grinned, putting his hands upon the wheel almost delicately, and showing off a multitude of gold-capped teeth in the process. "Let's take 'er in…"


	2. Chapter 2

Hello! Halleyjo here! Jinxeh has written the second and third chapters of the story, as well as a bit for the fourth. From then on I'll be taking over. Yep...that's it. Just thought you should know.

Enjoy the rest of her work, because it's freaking amazing!

Chapter 2

Samuel Greene led a very simple life, and as had every other male predecessor in the muddled gene pool that comprised his wayward family. Generations of his family could be traced back to Tortuga; his father was a drunkard that wandered the streets when conscious, his grandfather had been the same way, his great-grandfather had been much the same, and his great-great grandfather…actually, his great-great grandfather had been a highly successful merchant sailor, but his great-great-_great_ grandfather had been a drunk as well.

Either way, even when he was young, Samuel Greene had always known he wouldn't amount to much. Although not exactly to be seen as unattractive, he didn't seem to care much about personal hygiene—or even about shaving and brushing his hair out—and so he spent most of his time alone but for the rare occasions when he got enough gold together to buy some company for a night. Other than that, he was unaccompanied for the most part, leaving him with a fair amount of free time, especially during the day.

Every once in a while, mostly to support his drunken needs, Samuel took an odd job or two, or else ran a few errands for the few people in Tortuga that had managed to keep business going. He'd worked at the docks, hauling cargo and goods back and forth from the docks and the tavern, which was an excellent way to earn a good amount of gold in just a few hours—and which, of course, he could then spend within a few minutes.

On this particular night, Samuel Greene had found himself with nothing to do. He hadn't been able to find any work that day on the docks, therefore he didn't have any money to spend for the night. Instead, he found himself sitting on the edge of one of the docks, a half a bottle of rum that he had stolen from his younger brother in one of his hands and his scruffy face set into a firm scowl. Half a small bottle of rum wasn't going to be enough to get him drunk.

"Lousy town…" he mumbled under his breath, finally forcing himself to his feet and, swaying in a way that those accustomed to a life of intoxication often do, making his way down the dock, attempting to avoid the various crates and rope coils that resided there.

He wasn't the only person on the docks, by far; other ships were constantly coming in and out, and he was always finding himself walking around others that were doing their duties, muttering curses under his breath that they refused to move out of their ways for _him_.

From his vantage point, walking along the deck and then turning when he reached the ground, he had a straight-shot view to the sea and the sky that lied above it—though since it was dark now, he could see nothing but the glimmering lights of the lanterns that hung on said ships. One in particular caught his eye—obviously one that had just arrived in the pirating port, since the crew was still swarming the deck, furling the sails and checking the anchors.

This was a rather strange ship, easily noticed, and when he finally managed to take note of this he stopped in his tracks, squinting his eyes to make sure that what he was seeing was correct. Was it just his imagination, or was this particular ship black in color?

By and by, a sluggish grin began to grow on Samuel's lips, and his dark eyes were suddenly alight with the excitement. He recognized the _Black Pearl _by description alone, and now that it had docked in Tortuga…

He had a job to do.

—xXx—

Despite the chaotic shenanigans of the normal nighttime hustle and bustle that was within _The Faithful Bride_, when an almighty _CRASH_ sounded throughout the main room, reverberating along the walls and almost making the tables shudder, nearly everyone present was to be found looking about in confusion, searching for the source of the noise.

It didn't take long for most people to locate it. In the midst of the crowds and drunken fun in the center of the main room, one lone girl stood, pale and shaking and a small crate that had once been filled with rum bottles in her arms, the bottles of which were now lying broken at her feet. She winced, her bare feet moving up and down as she attempted to move away from the broken glass, but being quite unable to walk away since it surrounded her. Mentally, she cursed the fact that her old pair of shoes had finally worn out so much that she could no longer walk in them.

On the outside, however, her face remained as blank as it always was; despite her situation, her sunken eyes were as devoid of emotion as ever, the dark rings and circles always to be perceived beneath them as profound as they had been as long as she could remember—if they hadn't managed to become even worse-looking. In a tattered brown dress and with raggedy hair to match, she was quite a pitiful sight, standing amongst the broken bottles that she'd accidentally dropped.

Most of the tavern's occupants paid attention to her just long enough to scoff at her clumsiness and roll their eyes before life went on as usual, and everything erupted into chaos and disorder once more, just as it was supposed to be.

"_Girl!_"

Ellie winced again when a familiar voice greeted her ears, piercing and angry and involuntarily making her shudder. A moment later, she was left to look to the side and see her grandfather walking towards her at a rather alarming pace, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his face as red as a beet.

"_What_ did I tell you, girl?" he demanded in a hiss-like voice when he had finally reached her, grabbing her upper arm and forcing her to look up at him. "I said bring 'em from the spare room to the counter, and you couldn't even manage that? _Now_ look at this mess—all that rum! _Wasted!_"

Ellie had only a small shrug in which to respond to the man, causing his scowl to only grow. His grip tightened on the girl's arm almost painfully, and before he could completely loose control and begin thrashing the girl right then and there, he instead began dragging her away, through the crowd—and through the glass. She whimpered slightly and dragged her feet when she stepped upon a particularly large piece of glass, but he didn't seem to much mind this. He picked her up nevertheless, holding her under his arm as though nothing but a sack of potatoes, and taking her behind the counter that way before setting her unceremoniously on her feet.

"Let's see if you can do anything without _breaking_ somethin' in the process," he said scornfully, thrusting a tattered rag into her hands and pointing to the row of dirty tin pint mugs on the shelf below the counter. "Start cleanin'."

Ellie sighed, but went to her task anyway, grabbing a mug and cleaning it with the dampened rag as he watched, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. Her foot was bleeding, true enough, but it was not as though it was gushing a steady stream of blood, and so she forced herself to ignore it.

"Brodruck! Brodruck! 'Ey!"

Both Ellie and her grandfather looked around as a sluggish, yet excited voice cut through the air, their eyes resting on the rather dirty middle-aged man that was edging his way past two younger men that were rolling around, punching and fighting on the floor. For Ellie, the appearance of this man meant absolutely nothing to her; she didn't know him, therefore he was of no importance to her, even if her last name was also Brodruck. She went back to cleaning the mugs and wondering if the small loss of blood from the cut on her foot would be enough to make her pass out, leaving her grandfather to deal with this man.

"Greene," said Nathaniel Brodruck in greeting to the man, raising an eyebrow as he stumbled up to the counter, grinning ear to ear and holding out a hand expectantly. "What d'you want?"

"You told me to keep on the lookout for that ship, the _Black Pearl_," said Samuel Greene, keeping his hand out and above the counter. "Said you'd give me four shillin's if I did! Well, it's here, I just told yeh that, so now I want my shillin's!"

"The _Black Pearl's_ here?" asked Nathaniel sharply, his piercing gaze now directed at Samuel with such intensity that the other man faltered—though he still didn't withdraw his hand. He nodded, gulping.

"Aye. Er…can I have me shillings, now?"

"Fine," answered Nathaniel absentmindedly, digging into the deep pockets of his dark breeches and pulling out a small handful of coins, which he shoved into the man's hands without really watching; his eyes were scanning the room, looking for something. Samuel, however, happened to notice that the other man had given him six shillings instead of four, but instead of pointing this out he tipped an imaginary hat to the other man, said his hasty thanks, and hurried away before anything was noticed.

"Rosa!" Nathaniel barked after a moment, stopping one of his barmaids—the portly woman in the yellow dress—in her tracks, a bottle of rum in one of her hands, which she had just been about to serve. "Rosa, watch the tavern fer a while—I got somethin' I need to do!"

The woman nodded, though she seemed a little confused, and Nathaniel turned to look down at Ellie, who was ignoring him the best she could as she wiped at another tin mug. Without even an explanation as to what was going on, her grandfather quickly grabbed her arm, wrenching the rag and mug out of her hands before pulling her out from behind the counter, directing her towards the door.

"C'mon, girl. Yer comin' with me…"

—xXx—

Ellie had no idea what her grandfather was going to do to her, but she allowed herself to be led out of the tavern and through the streets. She knew her grandfather well—he was a brash, and sometimes cruel person; sometimes rough with her, but never outright hitting her or causing her any purpose physical harm, though at times his temper made it seem as though he wanted to. He was, however, rather unpredictable, and it was obvious to her that he didn't like her—he could barely stand looking at her. It was impossible to guess why he'd dragged her out of the tavern, though she hardly cared. She hated being in that place, so any excuse to leave it behind was fine by her.

By now, she knew the streets of Tortuga quite well; it was easy for her to tell that he was taking her down to the docks…but why? She'd hardly ever been there on her own before, and he himself had never taken her down there…then again, he never took her anywhere, so that shouldn't have come as a surprise.

"I said I'd look after yeh until that no good street-rat got here…not longer than that, though…" her grandfather was muttering to himself distractedly, the grip he had on her arm unintentionally painful as he pulled her along. He kept his cold eyes straight ahead, never looking back at her and never looking anywhere else but ahead. Once again, this shouldn't have surprised her—he hated looking at her, anyway. Besides the color of her hair and the shape of her eyes, she looked like her mother. He didn't want to have to be reminded of that.

"If he don't take you…" her grandfather began bitterly, "I don't know _what_ I'm gonna do with you. You _ain't_ stayin' at the tavern no more! I can't have a child runnin' around, breakin' bottles and gettin' underfoot…"

Ellie thought that he was being a bit unfair with his words but, as usual, she kept her mouth shut about it. She wasn't always getting underfoot at the tavern, and nor was she _always_ breaking things…but when she did, it wasn't as though it was _her_ fault she was so clumsy. She couldn't run at all with her left leg being the way it was, never mind walk and be able to balance a crate of rum bottles in her arms without falling or tipping it over. Even now, as she was dragged along, her right leg was doing its best to keep up with her grandfather, while her left barely moved up and down at all; she was almost hopping.

When they reached the docks, the grip he had on her arm tightened, and she found herself looking forward to the moment that he would let go, and allow the circulation to return to her hand and wrist. In the meantime, and to get her mind off of this thought, she amused herself by looking around at all of the people and the ships that they passed by as she and her grandfather made their way briskly down one of the main dock passages. His booted feet echoed with each thumping step he took on the wooden planks. Her feet barely made a sound at all, still being bare and without even a thin strip of leather to cover them.

"'Ey! You there!" Her grandfather pulled her to the gangplank of a ship on the very end; a splendid, if not rather dog-eared one, painted black and with rolled up sails to match. Even when her grandfather let go of her arm to address the several men that had stopped with what they were doing when he called to them, Ellie simply stood there, gazing up at the ship with wide, sunken eyes. She'd never seen a ship that was black before, and she couldn't take her eyes off of it.

"Which one a' you is Jack Sparrow?" Ellie's grandfather demanded of the two men that had just walked down the gangplank, who were regarding him with some amount of suspicion. One of them, a man with black hair held back by a red bandana, gave a start, and then put himself behind the other man, pushing him forward a bit.

"_He_ is. This one, right here," said the man with the red bandana, nodding to the generously proportioned, slightly balding man that he had pushed forward, and who was now regarding him with a rather tired expression.

It was obvious that Nathaniel Brodruck didn't believe this one bit, though he didn't say anything about it. To him, Jack Sparrow had been a young teenager and a street-rat the first—and last—time he could ever remember seeing him. Even if he couldn't guess exactly what he looked like now, he had to guess that this stocky man in front of him was not Jack Sparrow. It didn't really matter, either way—he was in a hurry to get Ellie away from Tortuga and away from himself, so it hardly mattered who she went _with_.

"Fine," Nathaniel sighed tiredly. "Captain _Sparrow_, I own a tavern 'ere in Tortuga, an' I got a bit of a proposition fer yeh. How would yeh feel if I could stock your cargo hold full a' rum, and not _charge_ yeh fer it?"

The gray-haired and bearded man opened his mouth to reply to Nathaniel, but before he could the man with the red bandana hastily shoved his way past him and came to stand right in front of Nathaniel, grinning and exposing a number of cold-capped teeth.

"Aye, sir! The name's Captain Jack Sparrow!" said the man, grasping Nathaniel's hand and shaking it vigorously. "Sorry 'bout the mix-up, there, mate…y'know, it's dark…" He coughed, as though what he had said made any sense. "Anyway…what say you about this apparently complimentary rum?"

"I'm here to strike a deal with yeh, Sparrow," said Nathaniel between grated teeth, looking the man up and down with distaste. "I'll give yeh as much rum as you ask fer—just this once—fer free…but you gotta take somethin' off my hands, first."

"Really?" asked Jack, obviously intrigued, but also now a little wary since a new bargaining piece had been thrown into the mix. "And what would this little 'something' be, eh?"

"Her," said Nathaniel, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to gesture to the small, pale little girl that was now sitting cross-legged on top of a small crate a few feet behind him. The girl didn't even blink her eyes at this; only cocked her head to the side, her blank stare directed towards the _Black Pearl_ and nothing else. "You take her, and I'll give yeh free rum. Deal?"

"We don't take no _children_ on—" Gibbs began briskly, only to be stopped by Jack thrusting a hand backwards and into his chest, temporarily knocking the breath out of him. Unlike his first mate, Jack was grinning and nodding, as though it was an ordinary occurrence in which he was asked to take a child upon his ship.

"We have an accord," he said easily, shaking the man's hand again, his grin only growing. "We'll need the rum by tonight. I'll send my men fer it. _Men!_" He was suddenly shouting, spinning around on his heel and aiming his voice to the small number of pirates that were leaning over the railing of the ship, looking down on the scene in amusement. "Follow this man back to his tavern, and take whatever rum he gives yeh, savvy?"

It was as though the word 'rum' was a magical word that could cause even the most exhausted of men to wake up instantly; it seemed like mere seconds before seven of them were walking briskly down the gangplank, gathering behind their grinning captain and looking expectant.

"It's that easy?" asked Nathaniel unbelievingly. Truthfully told, he hadn't quite been expecting it to be this simple—he'd assumed that he would have to do some bartering in order to get the pirate captain to take the child off his hands. "You'll take 'er? Just like that?"

"Copious amounts of rum equals a happy crew, mate," said Jack somberly. "Takin' a child is a small price to pay fer a happy crew, wouldn't yeh agree? Now off yeh go—my men will escort you, and the girl will be well cared for, I assure yeh."

Nathaniel didn't seem like he wanted to jinx his good luck. He nodded stiffly and turned, walking away with the crew members right at his heels. He spared the little girl only a small glance when he passed by her, but that was it—she was out of his life now, and wasn't his problem anymore. He didn't have to concern himself with her well-being.

"Captain…" Gibbs finally muttered when the others were gone, putting a hand on Jack's shoulder. "The ship ain't no place fer a girl, yeh know that. Why—"

"Once the rum's on board, I hardly think it'll matter," said Jack wisely, turning to face his first mate with a beaming grin. "Let the girl stay here—it means no difference to me. Speakin' a' which, where—"

He whipped around again so he could look at the small child again, only to find that she was suddenly standing less than a foot away from him, staring up at him with sunken, yet light-colored eyes that were so wide, it was almost eerie.

"Er…" Jack cocked his head to the side, looking down at her curiously. "What's your name, girl?"

"Eleanor…" She hesitated before she spoke, and when she finally did her voice was so light and weak, he barely heard it at all. He nodded.

"My deepest sympathies," he said sincerely, clasping his hands together in front of himself, the tips of his fingers forming a steeple and just barely touching the two braids that hung down from his chin, as though he was attempting to silently pray. "Well then…Eleanor…why don't you go run off and find your mother, all right? There's a good girl," he said brightly, patting the top of her dark head before turning around and sauntering back up the gangplank.

"My mother's dead."

He turned in surprise, and involuntarily took a startled step back when he saw that she was right behind him; he was on the deck of his ship, and she stood right below him, still on the gangplank, and still looking up at him with those same eerie eyes.

"Oh…well, I'm sure your father will take care of you then, eh?"

She didn't appear to have a response to this. For some reason, the blank expression on her face slid away when he spoke, to be replaced by a look of slight confusion, and worry. Jack blinked.

"All right, then…" he said unsurely, looking around for someone to help him be rid of this strange little girl that followed him around. "I'm gonna go on my ship now, and you…" he hesitated again. "You just stay…right _here_…" he began backing away, pointing to the gangplank she stood on and motioning that she shouldn't follow him onto the ship itself.

She listened to him this time, and stood stock-still on the gangplank even when he nodded and turned, disappearing into the captain's quarters with only a sparing glance to her over his shoulder before he was out of her sight. She sighed, bowing her head and closing her eyes, wondering why her father didn't want anything to do with her.

—xXx—

"This 'as to be record time, managin' to get all our supplies—and the rum—in just one night," said Mr. Gibbs, obviously impressed as he watched the crewmembers haul crates and sacks and barrels up the gangplank and toss them down to the other men that were waiting below-deck through the square hole usually covered by the slide-away grate. "What d'you think about that man and his deal with the rum?"

"Doesn't matter," said Jack, waving a hand haphazardly as he stood beside his first mate, watching the crew load the ship with supplies. "She musta run off—haven't seen her since the man brought 'er here. Just get the rum loaded, and we'll get outta here 'fore she comes _back_."

Meanwhile, his crewmembers were, in all actuality, almost finished with loading their new supplies in the cargo hold. Barrels of freshwater and rum had been stocked and sat by the far wall, with individual bottles shoved into the slots above them, and the other crates and sacks had been put into the corners and kept there with thick straps so they wouldn't move about as the ship sailed.

The few crewmembers still in the hold and rolling the last few barrels to the wall were intent on finishing their job so they could get the ship on its way. In their distracted states, perhaps it was easy for them not to discover the small girl that had wedged herself between a number of the crates in the corner; they formed a barrier around her, making sure she couldn't be seen unless someone chose to actually move them.

Most young children were afraid of the dark. Most young children would be frightened of stowing away on a ship they knew nothing about. Ellie wasn't most children—but despite this, she was completely terrified of the darkness surrounding her, and of what she was doing. She had a feeling that this Jack Sparrow didn't even know she _existed_, and yet she knew from her mother's stories that he was her father.

In her hand sat the crumpled letter that her mother had written her grandfather those months ago, right before she died. Her grandfather let it fall to the ground, and she'd picked it up again when he hadn't been looking. It was the last thing she had to remind herself of her mother, and she refused to lose it, or leave it behind. Besides…it was all she had that could attest to others that Jack Sparrow was her father.

Maybe…just maybe…when she showed him that letter, he would realize the truth. Maybe…he would even love her. In her hopeful, naïve ten-year-old mind, this made perfect sense to her. He was her father, and like any father he could learn to love his newfound daughter…

Obviously, young Ellie Brodruck had much to learn about the ways and habits of a certain Jack Sparrow.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Well, here it is: the last chapter written by Jinxeh, and my personal favorite. Enjoy!

Chapter 3

Ten-year-old Ellie Brodruck was about to be sick.

There was a multitude of reasons behind her sudden urge to open her mouth and empty the contents of her stomach, but she had to guess that the not-so-gentle rocking and swaying of the ship as it played prey to the rough waves of the open sea at least had something to do with it. She'd abandoned her hiding space between the crates when her stomach first began to feel unsettled, and instead crawled out into the open so she could lean back against the flour sacks, one hand clutching her stomach and the other kept clamped firmly over her mouth.

She never thought she would be grateful that the morsels of food given to her in her grandfather's tavern had been so small—if she had been more well-fed, she probably would have been sick all over the creaky wooden floorboards by now. Her grandfather had never starved her or anything of the like, but he was a busy man. He usually ate for himself very quickly whenever he could spare a moment, and whenever he thought Ellie needed to be fed he usually told one of his barmaids to "Feed the girl!", and left it at that. The end result of this was that a harassed and also usually busy barmaid would toss Ellie an apple or something of the sort the next time they walked by the small child.

Ellie never complained about this. Why would she have? She happened to like apples, and besides that fact…she had never had much of an appetite, anyway. The years of her life spent on meager food portions courtesy of her mother's constant unemployment had made sure she'd grown accustomed to living without much food in her life. This was most dutifully proven by the girl's scrawny form, and downright unhealthy appearance.

Of course, even though she left Tortuga with a nearly-empty stomach, what little food that was residing in there now was threatening to come right back up again. Ellie's face, usually very pale and almost white in color, was now tinged most fiercely with green; her odd light eyes were wide and tired-looking, attesting to the lack of sleep she had been put through of late.

It was still night, she was sure, and judging from the shouts she'd heard coming from the deck above her head an hour or so beforehand, the ship was stopped and the anchors were sunken deep beneath the surface of the sea. The_ Black Pearl_ wasn't going anywhere…but the sea was rather rough on this night, and Ellie decided that she didn't like that very much.

That was it…she was sure she was going to be sick. The half an apple and bite of rather stale bread she consumed over twelve hours beforehand were threatening to come up once more, and this time she feared there would be nothing she could do to stop it. She knew she was going to be sick, but didn't want to get the mess all over the cargo hold—she was still only ten years old, after all, and there was that childlike fear of getting into trouble that factored into her decision of getting up and stumbling toward the stairway. She didn't know this man, this Jack Sparrow, and father or not…she knew that adults had a tendency to become angry when a child was sick all over their belongings, and the place where they lived.

With one hand—the other was still kept firmly over her mouth—she tucked the letter her mother wrote to her grandfather into a small pocket in the folds of her dress, and then used this free hand to steady herself. She kept it along the wall as she walked up the steps, or else she might have fallen over several times from the rocking and swaying of the vessel that threatened to tip her right over.

When she found herself entering another level of the ship that was not the topmost deck, but rather a sleeping quarters in which the crewmembers were all snoring in their hammocks, she stopped in her tracks. Her eyes even wider than before, she chanced a look about her, trying to see if anyone noticed her presence. No one did; no one was awake enough—or at least sober enough—to take notice of her at all.

The ship suddenly tilted to the side just a bit as a high wave caught it, causing the hammocks to shift slightly on the thick ropes that held them up and nearly making Ellie fall backwards down the short stairway. It was with this movement that the urge to be sick fully overtook the girl—and so, uncaring if anyone saw her anymore, she abandoned all cautiousness and was running as fast as her skinny legs and small feet could take her—which wasn't fast, since she was practically dragging one of her legs. Up the stairs she went, at a pace that was rather impressive given that only one leg was fully functional, clumsily jumping onto the deck when she reached it, and not hesitating to limp quickly to the nearest railing.

It was indeed a rough night for the sea; it was overcast, as could be seen from the lack of stars above, but although the waves below were choppy and sometimes rather high, at least it wasn't raining. Ellie didn't care; she was much too busy leaning over the railing, gripping it tightly with her pale, slender hands as she retched into the sea.

Her stomach was substantially emptier than she first presumed it was, for the retching itself did not last very long—there wasn't much in her stomach in which she could have thrown up in the first place. When she was done she moaned weakly, righting herself and standing up straight, but then sliding down to her knees only a moment later, now gripping the vertical wooden bars that supported the horizontal railing and looking between them, gazing out across the dark sea with rather glazed blue eyes.

Oh, how she hated the sea…

She remembered traveling with her mother to Tortuga a few months ago by means of ship—though it was not as though there was any other way they could have traveled to the pirate-dominated island—and even then, her experience with sailing had been much the same. She became predominately seasick then as well, all the while being incredibly envious of her mother, who was able to travel by ship with ease. Ellie spent most of the voyage below-deck and lying sick in a hammock, her mother right beside her as she brushed her hair back and out of her eyes in a very soothing manner.

Right now, Ellie wished more than ever that her mother was there with her. She wanted to be comforted, and she wanted to feel loved now that she was done being sick over the side of the _Black Pearl_…but there was no one around that could have done so. No mother, no father…no one. When she finally managed to stumble to her feet, her bleary eyes looked around and saw that the only people anywhere near here were two men that stood up on the platform the wheel was stationed on; no doubt it was their turn to play sentry, but luckily they had their backs to her, and the sounds of the angry sea had drowned out those of her vomiting.

Shaking slightly now, she wrapped her arms around herself, realizing just how chilly it had become this late at night, and wishing she had a shawl or blanket that she could wrap around herself. Her brown dress had long sleeves, true enough, but the fabric itself was thin and did practically nothing to protect her from the cold. It was just a bit warmer down below, she realized after a moment; not much so, but there were no chilly gusts of wind that reached down there, and so she thought that to be her best chance of staying warm.

Blinking tiredly, she turned again to head back the way she came and back to the stairway—but she stopped, gazing up in surprise at the man blocking her way, who was returning the expression of incredulity with fervor. Ellie blinked again, then squinting to see the man in the darkness that resided over the ship. Dark hair, a red bandana, a beard and braided mustache…she gulped and took a step back just as the ship tilted a bit in the other direction.

The effect was immediate; being someone that had about as much of a chance obtaining sea legs as a squid did of growing wings, Ellie fell back on her bum with an "_Oof!_" of very slight pain and mostly surprise—and the man standing in front of her stood stock-still, as though the rocking of the ship was something he hardly noticed. Indeed; when the ship swayed a certain way, he moved right along with it; his feet staying flat on the wooden planks, and the rest of his body moving side-to-side, front and back in keeping with the ship's motion. It reminded Ellie of when she played with the chickens that ran about Tortuga; she could pick one up and move it just slightly, and although its body would move with her hands, the chicken's head would stay in the same exact place in the air until its body was moved too far in a different direction.

"I…I…" Ellie seemed incapable of forming another word, and instead stammered that single letter over and over again, looking up at the man that she knew to be her father with wide blue eyes. Jack Sparrow, on the other hand, barely seemed to take notice of the girl, or if he did it didn't seem that he was too perturbed by her presence.

"You," he said finally, pointing a finger at her, and taking a quick swig from the bottle of amber-colored liquid in his other hand. "You," he said again when that was done. He paused, a sudden expression of confusion on his face as he looked right above her head, apparently deep in thought. He coughed.

"Yer not allowed on me ship," he said wisely, swaying slightly—though not from the rocking ship this time—and pointing a finger at her again. "You should…get _off_ now," he finished bluntly, waving a hand around vaguely and blinking his dark eyes in a fashion that was not dissimilar to the way she was continuously blinking her own. Apparently this particular bottle of rum was not the first he had taken the liberty to consume this night.

It was about then that Jack seemed to realize the bottle he held in his hands was now empty of rum. He tried to take another swig from it, then frowning and holding the bottle up in front of his kohl-outlined eyes when nothing happened, his confused mind trying to figure out what he didn't taste rum. He blinked again, sniffing slightly in impatience.

"Oh," he said simply, finally figuring out that the bottle was empty. He tossed it over the railing without another word about it before his gaze was drawn back to the girl. She stayed sitting, her eyes as wide as saucers and her mouth open as she stared up at him in shock. He nodded, giving her a two-fingered salute of sorts before he turned around and sauntered off. "More rum…"

His attention now off of her and her heart beating like a drum in her chest, that was all Ellie needed to scramble to her feet the best she could. She was gone an instant later, limping across the deck and down the stairs as fast as she could, intent on putting as much space as possible between herself and her obviously inebriated father. She wasn't ready for this; he was drunk, and she was scared of him; scared of his ship, even. No, she would wait…wait for the opportune moment in which to reveal herself to him…

She wondered if he would remember this meeting when he woke up the next morning…

—xXx—

Jack Sparrow was a strange, and very peculiar man.

There were certain quirks and attributes about him that made most look at him and think of him strangely—such as his swaggering walk, or his impressive use of a wide vocabulary when compared to that of certain other pirates that roamed and pilfered the Caribbean. One of the things that he was most proud of, however, was his seeming immunity towards the common hangover.

Other men would drink as much as he did, and not even be able to push themselves out of bed—or off the ground—the morning after. Jack was different in that he could drink twice as much as most men, and yet the morning after he could wake up tip-top and well-to-do, a grin on his face and a headache nowhere to be felt. After so many years of drinking, his body seemed to have just become…accustomed to being in such a constant state of inebriation.

And so, of course, when Jack Sparrow woke up—on the floor of the captain's quarters—the morning after the _Black Pearl_ sailed from Tortuga, that familiar grin was still in place, and he felt perfectly fine despite the fact that the ship itself was short a few bottles of rum—though to be fair, much of it had gotten sloshed around and ended up on the floor when he had stumbled around in his drunken state.

And then, as what usually happened when he awoke after a night of drunkenness, Jack simply…remembered. He usually did. He remembered finishing off what was left of his 'secret' supply of rum…remembered stumbling around his quarters for a while, muttering something or other to himself…he even remembered sauntering out onto the deck and seeing that pale little girl…and then, he walked back into his quarters and pulled out the maps…and then…

'_Wait_…'

He thought about this memory for a moment, pondering about the reliability of this small snippet of his memories. Why, he remembered the girl from Tortuga; the one the owner of the tavern had given to Jack along with all of the rum…but did he really see her last night as well? No, that couldn't be…she was nowhere to be seen when the ship sailed away from Tortuga…unless she had somehow hidden away…

He paled considerably despite his tanned skin when he thought about this scenario and was on his feet in an instant, looking around his quarters wildly as though expecting to see the girl sitting there and looking right back at him. Of course she wasn't, and so he took his fearful antics out of the room and onto the deck, unintentionally spinning around in circles as he looked for her with wide outlined eyes. Several of his crewmembers that were already up and about looked at him strangely when he passed by them in such a fashion, but he could only hold their attention for so long—they'd seen stranger antics from the likes of him before, after all.

"Gibbs!" Jack shouted when he stopped spinning around, finding himself next to the mizzenmast as he called for his first mate. "_Gibbs_!"

"Aye, Cap'n?" Jack jumped slightly when Mr. Gibbs's voice rang out from above him, and looked up and over to see the man on the platform the wheel was kept on. Jack nodded and ran up to greet him, still looking around wildly.

"Gibbs—where is she?" he demanded as soon as he reached the other man. "I saw 'er—she snuck aboard! A stowaway! _Undead monkey!_"

This statement was actually aimed away from Mr. Gibbs and towards the fuzzy animal that had leapt from above and onto the wheel, and in an instant Jack's gun was out and aimed at the small creature. The monkey was, this time, quicker than Jack and his gun, and it jumped down and onto the main deck before Jack could actually shoot it. The captain scowled but put his gun away nevertheless; he'd shoot it later, when he was more agitated and needed a way to make himself feel better.

"What's this?" asked Gibbs unsurely. "A girl? _What_ girl? Oh, wait one bleedin' minute…" It suddenly dawned upon him who the captain was speaking of, and his own eyes widened considerably. "The girl from Tortuga? She's _here_? There's a _woman_ on this ship?"

"A miniature one, to be sure," said Jack agreeable, pronouncing the word 'miniature' the way Gibbs usually would. "She was 'ere last night—she's gotta be here _still_."

"Are yeh sure?" asked Gibbs, suddenly seeming unsure of himself, and of his captain's words. "I saw what yeh were actin' like on deck last night, Cap'n—yeh sure yeh can trust yer memories on this one?"

"Not in the least," said Jack, spinning around and looking down at the deck. "But I have to be sure. Where—" He stopped in mid-sentence, his outlined eyes narrowing slightly when they went upon the stairway before the mizzenmast; the one leading down to the large room in which the crew slept, and then eventually the cargo hold. From what he could see, the girl wasn't on deck, and it seemed unlikely she could be in the riggings…

"I'll be right back…"

—xXx—

The cargo hold of the _Black Pearl_ was not, by far, a very pleasant place to be, but Ellie Brodruck had no complaints about it. The wooden walls were damp and, in some places, slimy; and there was barely enough room for her to sit down, but she did so anyway in front of a gathering of rum barrels, her mother's letter in her hands.

Unlike her mother, Ellie never put much importance on the written word. She could read and write—though her handwriting in itself was fairly abysmal—and her mother made sure that she was well-learned…but Ellie just did not care much for it, and nor could she _make_ herself care for it. Books bored her, and no matter of how many her mother had pushed upon her, she could never keep interest for long.

However, by now it seemed that young Ellie had read her mother's letter so many times that she had it memorized. Some of the words were unfamiliar to her and there were a few pieces of information that made little or no sense to her (what did a Kraken have to do with her father, anyway?), but she drew a feeling of comfort from that little sheet of parchment nonetheless. They were her mother's words; her hands had touched upon this parchment, and her loopy handwriting adorned it prominently. It was all Ellie had of her mother, and her eyes took in these writings with a certain sadness to be perceived in them.

She was only jolted out of her morose reverie when the sounds of footsteps reached her ears, accompanied by the humming and slight singing of a song that was unfamiliar to her ears.

"…and _really_ bad eggs…drink up me hearties, yo _ho_…"

She gasped, folding the letter over and shoving it within the small pocket of her dress again before she was standing up, looking around with wide light eyes in search of a place to hide. When she looked up towards the stairway, she saw a pair of booted feet descending, and her heart gave an almighty jump and she began looking around even more frantically. She didn't want to be found _now_…it just didn't seem like the right time…and besides that…well, she had very little experience in dealing with pirates other than those that routinely visited _The Faithful Bride_ and was in no hurry to meet another one now.

Her eyes found the crevice between the supply crates she'd hidden in the night before, and she practically threw herself into it, her light frame hitting the ground with a barely distinctive thump. She crawled forward and out of sight just as a certain Jack Sparrow walked haphazardly down the last few steps. His posture was strange, which Ellie could see even from her hiding spot; his back was slightly arched, his hands held in front of himself and his finger spread wide, as though he'd managed to find an invisible piano floating in midair right in front of him. Ellie blinked, recognizing him once again as the man she ran into the night before—her father.

Still, she didn't come out from her hiding spot. Instead, she tucked herself back even further, always keeping him within her sights, but never revealing anything to him. She was hidden in the shadows. He wasn't. Still, he probably couldn't see her even if he was looking right at her, or at least in her general direction.

"I know you're here, girl," called the pirate captain warningly, taking his steps cautiously, each step echoing hollowly against the wooden planks below him. "I seen you with me own two eyes—might as well come out…"

Ellie chose not to heed those words. Her wide eyes followed him around the cargo hold, watching as he craned his neck to look over stacks of barrels and food sacks. When he passed by a small gathering of half-empty barrels filled with rum, Ellie almost shrieked when he suddenly turned and knocked them aside, thrusting his head into the space created between them, an almost maniacal grin on his face. When he realized that there was no one there, that grin faltered and he backed away, scratching the top of his head in confusion.

"Coulda _sworn_ I saw somethin' movin…"

He blinked his eyes bemusedly as a fat gray rat suddenly scuttled out from behind the water barrels, stopping by Jack's stationary feet for only a small instant to sniff at his boots before it was off again, apparently not finding anything to its interest. Jack watched as it disappeared behind some of the rum bottles, his frown deep and irritated.

"Oh," he said simply, as though the appearance of the rat explained everything. "All right then."

By now he was irate, growing more impatient…and perhaps willing to believe that what he'd seen the night before was not actually real. And so, he did what he usually would have done in such a situation.

He gave up.

"Too early for this," he muttered to himself , shaking his head slightly as he turned around haphazardly on his heels, walking to the staircase and climbing without another word said to the supposedly empty room.

Ellie waited until she was sure he was gone before chancing to crawl out of her hiding place. Still shaking just slightly, she looked down at the ground, cringing at the thought of there being more rats around the cargo hold—of which she was sure there was. She shuddered, crossing her arms in front of herself as though cold. She hated rats.

Wistfully, she looked up at the ceiling, imagining that this day had brought the warm Caribbean sun upon the _Black Pearl_, and wishing that she could go above deck and see it; or even feel it upon her pale face. She bit her lip, wondering if that was possible. She was certainly feeling better than she felt last night—mostly because her stomach had nothing left in it that she could retch in the first place. Besides…she could feel the ship's movement below her feet, almost…it was moving now, meaning that they were even farther away from Tortuga than before. Surely her father wouldn't turn the ship around just to take her back to Tortuga _now_?

She sighed, digging her precious letter from her pocket and staring down at it, trying to make up her mind. Apparently the decision itself was not one very difficult for her to make—an instant later she was on her way up the stairs at a slow sort of limp, her mother's letter clutched tightly in her hand and her heart beating wildly within her chest.

—xXx—

"I told yeh, Cap'n—you were just seein' things," said Gibbs wisely as Jack manned the wheel, apparently not having thought anything sour about the captain's claims about seeing the girl before. "There ain't no way a girl would get on the ship anyway, without someone knowin' about it or seein' it…"

Jack nodded tiredly, by now having heard Mr. Gibbs say this more times than he needed to count. For now, he kept his attention halfway divided between the horizon set before him and his great black ship, and the compass that lay open in his tanned and slightly dirt-smudged hand, watching as the needle quivered, but did not move.

It was a simple task to ignore Gibbs when he had other things to worry about, and so for the most part he was able to do so but for the glances he cast over to his first mate every now and then. And so, imagine his surprise the next time he chose to look over, only to find his attention drawn downwards to the mess of black hair and pale face of the small girl standing beside the wheel, who was looking up at him with wide blue eyes.

Jack had nothing to say to this apparently, though the surprised expression on his face said enough for him as it was. Following his gaze, it didn't take long for Gibbs to notice what Jack was staring at, and when his eyes fell upon the small child he gulped and nearly jumped away from her, moving to the other side of the captain's wheel as though the mere sight of her scalded him. The girl, on her part, didn't say anything to either of them. Secretly, Jack wondered how she managed to get to the platform without anyone seeing her…

"Oh…" said Jack in surprise, looking the girl up and down, his eyebrows in danger of disappearing beneath his bandana. He turned back to Gibbs, pointing back at the girl with one sure finger. "See? There _is_ a girl on my ship," he said simply. Blinking, he turned around again to face Ellie. "What are you doing on my ship?"

The girl didn't answer, though if it was because she couldn't or wouldn't, Jack didn't know. Instead, she blinked her huge light-colored eyes at him and then held out a hand, in which was clutched a folded-over piece of parchment. Jack hesitated, cocking his head to the side and narrowing his eyes slightly. Finally…

"Gibbs, take the wheel," he said, waiting for his first mate to put his hands upon the wooden wheel before he himself snatched the paper out of the girl's hands. He looked at her suspiciously as he unfolded it and waved it around a bit, opening it fully. She still didn't say anything; only watched as his eyes went down to the parchment, scanning the artfully written words that were written there in her mother's elegant script.

It seemed like an eternity stretched between them as Ellie waited with bated breath, watching for any sign of a reaction on his face as he read. To her surprise, there was none; his brow furrowed as he read on, true enough, but although the corners of his mouth twitched downward slightly, other than that there was hardly a reaction to be seen upon him. It was only when he finished reading that he allowed his gaze to travel down to the girl again. Dark brown eyes met those of eerie blue, one tired gaze matching with another.

Jack sighed, a slight scowl to be perceived among his tanned features.

"Oh, _bugger_…"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Halleyjo here! This is my first chapter. Jinxeh wrote the first couple of pages, but everything beyond that, it's all mine which is why it's much shorter (she has her writing style, I have mine). Hope you like it...

Chapter 4

In hindsight, Ellie had to think that her father didn't react in exactly the sort of way that she had first hoped upon handing him the letter that her mother wrote. When first stowing away upon the _Black Pearl_, Ellie thought that maybe she could catch a glimpse of an actual father within the inebriated facade that the pirate captain so zealously put forth…but, and unfortunately enough, she was sorely disappointed.

With a dark mutter of "Gibbs, take the wheel…" to the man that was standing next to him at the time, Jack made haste in grabbing the girl's arm and pulling her with him as he swaggered to the set of steps that would take them down to the main deck. Unfortunately, Ellie's bad left leg wasn't going to allow her to keep pace with him and so, becoming aggravated that he was practically dragging her, Jack had to resort to another tactic—namely lifting her up under her arms and holding him away from himself as he walked with brash steps.

The way he was trying to avoid as much physical with her as possible was something that confused Ellie, though she couldn't really force herself to say anything about it; or speak at all, for that matter. He acted as though touching her was something that scalded him, and so was moving along quickly so as to get it over with. Many of his crewmembers looked up in shock when he passed by them, but he ignored them altogether—he had more pressing things on his mind, after all.

In what seemed to be no time at all, they'd reached the main deck and then the door to the captain's quarters, which was where he deposited her rather roughly on her feet before opening the door and practically shoving her inside. One quick look over his shoulder was all he had to offer to those members of his crew that were standing on the deck and gawking before he scowled and was gone, stepping within the quarters and slamming the door shut behind him.

—xXx—

Ellie nearly stumbled when pushed into the captain's quarters, but managed to catch herself at the last minute by grabbing the edge of the table that stood in the middle of the room. Wincing slightly as she forced herself to stand up straight and put weight on her bad leg, she made herself turn around just in time to see Jack shutting the doors leading out of the quarters.

It was strange…it seemed that in the exact moment the doors were shut, therefore cutting off the view any of his crewmembers might have had of him, the pirate captain seemed to…change…in a way that was not entirely discernable. His posture was suddenly not quite so tall and proud, and the expression he was wearing before—which was one of moderate overconfidence—was gone, to be replaced by one of mixed confusion and apprehension. Sighing, he turned around to face the girl, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

It seemed that they just stood there for a small number of seconds, staring at one another and not saying a word. Ellie's sunken, light-colored eyes did not waver; even though her heart was pounding she refused to show this on the outside, resulting in her looking emotionless and completely blank in expression. Jack didn't seem to like this eerie front she was putting up very much, judging from the rather disturbed expression that crossed upon his own features. He sighed once again, shaking his head in defeat.

"I need rum…"

He passed by Ellie on his way to the desks that were attached to the far wall, and she instinctively took a step back when he did. It was not beyond her to notice, however, that he still had her mother's letter in his hand, though now it was even more crumpled than before since he was holding it when he picked her, Ellie, up. She eyed it apprehensively, wishing she could have it back and know for sure that it was safe. It was the only thing she had left from her mother; she didn't want to lose it…

"Can I have my letter back?"

Jack managed to reach the desk and pull several drawers open in his nearly frantic, and yet aggravated search for rum by the time her small voice reached him, but he decided against turning around and facing her.

"No," he responded dryly, his face then brightening considerably when he happened upon a small bottle of the liquid he so craved, and pulled it from a drawer. He always kept a few bottles stored in his personal quarters in case the stores below deck ran dry; the problem was that he usually couldn't remember where he hid the bottles after he did so. "Think I'll hold onto it for a while."

She wanted to protest against this, but somehow the words that she so craved to spill forth from her tongue just wouldn't come to her. Her thoughts were jumbled and erratic; she couldn't hold onto one for long without another pushing it aside and taking its place. She suddenly felt very small and childish as he backed away from the desk, the bottle now open and tipped forward so he could drink from it almost greedily. A cringe almost overtook her when she watched how eagerly he consumed this liquid, remembering the bitter taste when she'd tried it for herself.

She'd tried rum only once before, when she was in her grandfather's tavern. She remembered a man sitting in the back of the front room that continuously ordered pint after pint, until he simply collapsed at his table with one half-filled mug still left on its surface. For the longest time, she'd found herself curious about what it was about this drink that men and women alike seemed to crave, and what better way to find out than to try it? She snuck one sip of the drink when she was sure no one was looking, and ended up spitting it out all over the table in disgust. Now, as she watched him gulp a good amount of the drink before even lowering the bottle, she felt that she would like to throw up—she would have, if there was anything left in her stomach with which she _could_.

"What?" he asked edgily, the bottle lowered and allowing for him to take in the repulsed expression on her pale, somewhat narrow face. She shook her head quickly, hating how his kohl-outlined eyes were narrowed upon her; she hated when people looked at her like that.

With a '_hmpth'_ sort of sound grunted from between his lips, Jack pulled a rather rickety wooden chair towards himself and sat in it, then immediately swinging his legs up and putting his booted feet atop the table. It only seemed natural to Ellie that she would take the seat opposite him, but she hesitated before she could do so. This wasn't her quarters, and she didn't know what his reaction was going to be if she did something that he didn't agree with.

Being brought up solely by her mother, who was a vivacious woman who constantly defied what was expected of her by society—no matter where they were living at the time—the woman had tried to teach these ideals to her only daughter, but they didn't stick. Ellie was simply too meek and submissive; she did what people who had power over her expected her to do, and tried to avoid conflict whenever she could…or, as her grandfather was fond of stating, "The girl ain't got no _backbone!_". The only things she'd ever done that could be considered as breaking any unwritten rules—intentionally—was going after her mother's letter after her grandfather had dropped it, and stowing away on the ship she knew belonged to her father.

In a situation such as this, she didn't dare to do _anything_ when she wasn't sure if she was allowed to. Even such a small thing as pulling out a chair and sitting down was an uncertainty to her, and she wouldn't do it until she was told to.

"Are yeh gonna stand there all _day_, or are yeh gonna sit down?" This came out in more of a snappish way than Jack might have originally intended, but it seemed to do the trick, and the little girl made haste in pulling out a chair and climbing into it. "That's what I thought…"

—xXx—

At first, neither of them spoke. Ellie sat in the chair that was too big for her, feeling small and weak, and Jack seemed to think that ignoring her for a little while in favor of concentrating on the drink in his hand was a good idea. She watched him with wide blue eyes, patiently waiting for him to finish his drink, and not daring to say a word the whole time. This was seen as most unnerving to Jack, who hated glancing across the table, only to see those strange eyes looking right back at him.

So instead of looking at her, he focused on the glass bottle in his rough, calloused palm. There was still a good amount of the beverage left inside, and it provided welcome relief from the sight of the child. Sighing as contentedly as he could in such a situation, he poured more of the rum into his mouth, savoring it as long as he could before swallowing. The powerful tingling sensation of it traveling down his throat was something he was more than used to, but because he was drinking so quickly, some of it went down into his throat. Before he could stop himself, he was coughing uncontrollably.

Jack swung his legs off the table and sat upright, pounding his fist on his chest and gasping for breath. He could feel his diaphragm convulsing as he hacked. There was no doubt in his mind that he looked incredibly dense at the moment, and was a bit relieved that only the girl was witnessing this. She hadn't spoken a word since asking for her mother's letter, the most he had heard from her ever since he had discovered her on his ship. Even if she found the sight of him trying to expel a large amount of rum from his lungs to be less than impressive, he did not feel as though he had any real need to worry about her telling the crew about it.

Finally he could breathe regularly again, after a final grand cough, and he was able to return to his drink. There wasn't much left now – a good amount had spilled onto the floor during his attack – but the remaining liquid offered a few more gulps for his eager mouth and mind. He downed it quickly, taking care not to inhale any of it again, before setting the empty bottle on the table between him and his daughter.

Now that there was alcohol blurring his thoughts just enough for them to be bearable, Jack was finally able to concentrate on the matter at hand. There was the entirely likely possibility that the mother of the child had simply been looking for a man to pin fatherhood onto, and he had been the unlucky victim in this case. Jack had been with an abundant number of women in his days, and, well...several of them spent their nights in male company for a fee. It was definite that some of them were burdened with children after such business transactions. Honestly, he had thought once or twice about the chance of this happening, but he was the captain of a ship. He could not be bothered by fretting about these odds; there simply was no use, so instead he had put it out of his mind entirely.

But as he had read the letter in the girl's possession, he had begun thinking about a woman he had not seen for many years. He hadn't been able to remember her name straightaway, but the signature brought back quite a few memories. Jack had been young at the time, at a place in his life where female creatures were more than just people that were able to give their clientele the sort of satisfaction one could not attain from material objects such as magnificent ships and good rum. The only reason he was able to recall those more innocent times was because of the letter. He knew that Celia had been quite fond of the written word, spending a good amount of time working on her penmanship and eloquence. He couldn't say that none of this had rubbed off on him; he had a particular affinity for articulacy himself, something that made him stand out in the pirating world even more than the legends already being told.

And this was the only motivation for Jack to study, truly study the features of the girl before him. There were absolutely traces of Celia in the girl's face, even though she was much skinnier than her mother had been: her pucker of a mouth, her narrow, pointed nose. Even their skin was the same, pale, as though it had never seen the sun, even though that wasn't true. This was her daughter.

However, what frightened Jack even more than this blow from the past was what he realized next. The girl had his eyes.

They weren't the same color, not even close, but they had the exact same shape. The only difference was that hers were devoid of kohl. This was not the only similarity between the man and the child, however. She also had the same dark, messy hair, now that he inspected it. Even the way their hands moved were alike, though hers were currently folded in her lap. But he had seen how swiftly she had moved the chair she was now sitting in. She had the grip and the speediness of a thief, even if that was not how she'd been raised (Celia was not a typical woman, but Jack did not believe she would teach her daughter to steal – that was evident by the ridges and divets in her skin created by her protruding bones). It took more than practice to obtain that sort of ability: it had to be in the blood first.

Jack made a noise with that realization, a cross between a snort and a sigh. The girl did not respond, but instead blinked her large blue eyes, as she had done several times since sitting down. The man couldn't help but feel slightly unnerved by this lack of motion. Most of the children he had come across in his life were fidgety, noisy little creatures. The one sitting across from him – his daughter – was the exact opposite, though. Quiet wasn't a good word to describe her, because it indicated that some sound was being made. _Silent_ was much better.

Whatever she was, nevertheless, he found it terrifying.

"So," he muttered, finally trying to disturb the stillness of the room. "May I inquire as to why you're on me ship?"

The only change in her expression was a pair of raised eyebrows, giving her an air of juvenile confusion. Her mouth remained closed.

"I asked, 'what are yeh doing here?' " He leaned forward over the desk, his dreadlocks grazing the top of the wood. His hands gripped the arms of his chair. The girl shrank back slightly, her lips parting momentarily before clamping shut again.

"All righ', then, that's how we'll play it." Jack pulled back, nestling his shoulders into his chair. "Allow me to explain somethin' to yeh. This-" he gestured around, indicating the entire area – "is my ship. It is, in my humble opinion, the best on the seas. I tell the crew what to do, they do it...it's beautiful, really."

He paused, partly for dramatic effect, partly to reflect on what he had just said. He smiled slightly before continuing.

"And for the crew of the best ship on the seas to make sure said ship sails well on said seas, there cannot be any small creatures running about underfoot. And you happen to be a small creature." Jack sniffed. "Actually, tha's not quite right. We got an undead monkey. But unless you're capable of swabbing the deck or climbin' the rigs - which I'm supposin' yeh ain't - there's no real need for you to be here."

"But-" For the first time, the girl appeared to be trying to reply. However, it looked as though she was having difficulty getting the words out. Even so, Jack did not need a translation. He knew what she was going to say.

"How long 'ave you had this letter? Can you read?"

She nodded.

"D'yeh know wha' this says?" he asked her, pulling the well-fingered note from his pocket and unfolding it, placing it on the desk before him.

With a single jerk of her head, the girl gave her assent, eyeing the piece of paper hopefully. Jack pressed his bejeweled forefinger on the edge of the letter, pulling it back towards himself. The child slumped down a little then, looking disappointed.

"All righ' then...why are you here?"

Her response gave him all he needed to know. She only blinked twice, but there was a trace of sadness in her gaunt features now.

"I'm unable to take care of yeh, girl," he told her, using a quieter voice than before. "I refer yeh back to wha' I said about the ship. No children, even if they..." he sought for a word to use. "..._might_ be related to the captain."

The girl, if possible, looked even more crushed.

"Think abou' it...me an' my crew need to be...as focused as possible on this vessel. No distractions. A child-" he pointed at the girl – "is a distraction. Now, that man who asked me to take yeh before – was he yer grandfather?"

Once again, she nodded, not meeting his eyes.

"Why can't yeh stay with him?"

"Underfoot," she muttered sullenly.

"Ah. What about...yer grandmother?"

The girl frowned.

"Any aunts? Uncles? Cousins? Relations of any sort?"

She hummed a little, a noise that could have been interpreted as a "no."

"So...I'm the only one tha's able to nurture, cherish, treasure, an' otherwise care for you?"

Once again, her eyes did not meet his. Instead, they focused on a chip on the edge of the desk, her fingers picking at it with a bit more vehemence than necessary. He sighed.

"Very well. What's yer name again? Gertrude?"

"Eleanor," she corrected, though it came out in barely a whisper, as if she were terrified.

Jack stood up from his chair, walking over to the door and opening it, motioning for the girl to follow suit and leave the quarters. However, it took her much longer than he would have preferred. The problem, of course, was the twisted leg. She dragged it about like it was nothing but dead weight, which it technically was, and the slow effect was irritating in a situation such as the one they were currently in. He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm, pulling her along in a manner similar to his earlier actions.

He wasn't moving in his usual sauntering style, but rather with intense rapidity. There wasn't time for any sort of ostentation, not even if it was second nature for him. Jack Sparrow could have no interruptions, because he now had a difficult task to accomplish.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Yahoo! Halleyjo wrote a whole chapter! I hope you enjoy it. 

Chapter Five

Ellie had been in a fitful sleep for a long while, before she accidentally tossed herself from the hammock she was resting in and landed heavily on the floor.

What little breath remained in her body was forced out immediately on contact with the wooden slats, and instead replaced by a sharp pain in the abdomen. Whimpering slightly, she lay panting on the floor, trying to regulate her inhalation as best as possible. She'd had the wind knocked out of her before, but it had not been a pleasant experience then, and it definitely wasn't now. All that she could really do was wait for her lungs to regain power.

With a louder squeal, she pushed her hand against the floor and turned herself onto her back, still gasping. Ellie was concentrating as much as possible on breathing in and out, but snippets of her dream were worming into her conscious mind, and at that point in time, it was truly unfeasible that she could ignore this occurrence. The nightmare had been about her late mother.

She couldn't quite remember what it had been about, but felt cold and clammy, and minimally considered being in Celia's arms before being plucked out and cast into darkness. She was still frightened, even when she recognized it as nothing more than a dream. She was currently surrounded by dimness, being tossed about by the boat and the waves, and sensed that she was more alone than ever after getting aboard her father's ship. Earlier that day, when he had attempted to talk to her in his quarters, he had grabbed her arm and led her back up to the deck, not making any effort to converse with her from that point on.

Back in the open, she squinted from the sun reflecting off the water all around the ship as Jack suddenly stopped, shielding his own kohl-lined eyes. His head swiveled about slowly, surveying the crewmembers as they toiled. A few of them had decelerated their labor, studying their captain and the little girl with interest, but had pretended to work once more when he faced them. Ellie barely noticed the long, lanky man climbing about in the riggings – she found any sort of action that required such physical precision interesting, perhaps because her twisted leg prevented her from these endeavors – because she knew that the tone for her future would be set when Jack found what he was looking for.

A moment later, it appeared as though he had located whatever it was. With a slight tug, he motioned for her to begin walking beside him, and they moved towards the head of the ship. There, the man he had referred to as Gibbs was operating the wheel, frowning slightly in the bright light. The father and daughter headed in his direction, and when they reached him, Jack finally let go of Ellie's arm.

"Gibbs," he said, sounding a bit weaker than he usually did around his crew, "take this girl-" he swept a bejeweled hand over at her – "and give 'er...hm... somethin' to eat, I s'pose." He looked down at her. "Yeh need teh eat...yes, that's righ'."

Jack looked to be in his own world, merely speaking his thoughts. That his private thoughts were orders for his crew did not seem to surprise Gibbs. Ellie, after spending some time with the pirate captain, didn't find herself shocked either.

The man he had ordered, rather than ask any questions regarding the girl's appearance on the boat, simply responding with a "Yes, Jack," and beckoning towards her. The captain took control of the wheel, most definitely relieved, and Ellie, without protest, followed Gibbs.

He didn't talk to her either – at least, not until he had led her downstairs.

"What's your name?" he asked her, stopping as he waited for her to catch up. Ellie chanced a glance upwards, into his heavily bearded face, before replying.

"Eleanor," she muttered quietly. He considered this for a moment, before nodding.

"Eleanor. Right then." They were standing in front of a door, and he opened it for her, gesturing for her to enter it. "Come along, Eleanor."

They had entered what appeared to be a storeroom, for inside there was enough provisions to last the crew a good amount of time. No grand feast could be created from what was in there, but it would keep the crew alive and well, and that was important. Gibbs was scowling in concentration as he looked around. Though Ellie didn't know it, he was trying to get her something to eat that was small enough so that no one would notice its absence. His face suddenly brightened as he got an idea, and he walked over to the far side of the room, digging around in the containers. Finally, he lifted something out of one of the boxes, and, with a look of triumph, placed it in her small hand.

It was an apple.

Ellie had not seen her father for the rest of the day. Gibbs had managed to pull an extra hammock out for her to use, but after he had set it up a distance away from the other resting areas of the crew, he had to return back to the deck to continue working. She hadn't minded his leaving terribly, but had to admit that she had liked him. He hadn't spoken to her very much, but had occasionally given her a smile. She hadn't, of course, returned the gesture, but had warmed slightly to the ship. At least there was one person who acted kindly towards her.

It was on this that she mused for the rest of the day. She was extremely aggravated that Jack had taken her mother's letter. It was her only link to her deceased mother now, and besides that, it had given her something to do while spending time in the cargo hold. She was a child, and however strange she might be, no child is capable of simply sitting still doing nothing for hours on end. So rather than do just that, she lay inside of the hammock and thought about her father, trying to ignore the protests of her stomach. She still felt queasy aboard the vessel, and although she had been hungry, the apple wasn't doing much for her other than quelling the rumblings of her belly.

Reflecting on Jack Sparrow provided welcome relief from her growing nausea, but honestly, all she could really remember about him at that time in her life was his drunkenness and unwillingness to touch her - hardly the stuff precious memories were formed from. Even so, she had spent a good amount of her time thinking about him, everything from his golden teeth to his intense passion for rum.

One hour melted into the next, and before Ellie knew it, she had fallen into the deep slumber of a child. She had been sick very late the night before, causing her to already be exhausted. In addition to this, it had been a stressful day. These factors resulted in her fatigue, but even when unconscious, she had no respite from the twists and turns her life was taking. Almost immediately, she had been plagued with nightmares.

When she had finally woken up, only to be greeted with the wooden floor, Ellie didn't believe that she had yet gotten out of her bad dream.

-xXx-

Captain Jack Sparrow was, and not for the first time in his life by a long shot, incredibly drunk.

It had been, in his opinion, a very long, taxing day. Had it not been for the girl, it would have been quite ordinary – the usual sailing, the usual argument with a crewmembers, all leading to at least some time for rum at night. It was a lovely way to spend every day, as long as they were not on land. When it did happen that they sailed into a nearby port, Jack (and most of his shipmates) would immediately immerse themselves in the pleasures not available to them when they were on sea – namely, local whores, and, of course, a plentiful quantity of alcohol.

But he wasn't on land, and that day had brought upon him one of the greatest shocks of his life. That surprise had come in the form of a young child, one who bore the face of a previous lover and his own eyes.

However, thinking about this was not in his nature. He was accustomed to being obeyed by his crew, living on his own most of the time, and, whenever the chance presented itself, getting inebriated and satiated in whatever other area he might crave. Jack Sparrow was many things – a pirate, a picaresque gentleman, the captain of the best damn ship on the ocean (as he thought this, he grinned smugly while taking yet another hearty swig of rum and spilling a good amount of it on himself)...many wonderful, stupendous, under appreciated things.

Even so, he was certainly not a father.

So when life presented him with a ten-year-old daughter with no other relatives, friends, or even acquaintances to watch over her, Jack could not exactly summon the will to change himself and give the girl a good home and loving family, thereby surrendering his own manner of operating. Instead, he dumped her off on Gibbs and proceeded to down a drink or two. Or possibly more. Who was counting?

As it had been the night before, his thoughts were becoming a bit hard to get a grasp on, slipping away more quickly than when he was sober. That was, after all, the point of getting drunk – forgetting the troubles, worries, and various aggravations he encountered during the day. Unfortunately, he also did not remember where exactly on the ship he was, and how to get to his quarters.

Jack was sitting on the deck besides the capstan, that he knew, but nothing else besides that. It was extremely late at night, so not only had all of his crew gone to sleep in their quarters, but he was unable to see very far because it was so dim. He was alone, with no way to get to his bed besides feeling around his environment and hoping he made it to his room without too much hassle. He expected that he would eventually be able to do so, but if not, he could always rest in the kitchen or, should the opportunity present itself, beneath the table. He had done it before, when he had been in a similarly intoxicated state. It was surprisingly comfortable, although he _had_ woken up with a fork's imprint on his cheek.

Yawning loudly, he poured the final swill of rum into his mouth, before letting it fall to the deck with a heavy 'clunk.' Then, stumbling, he managed to stand himself up after a few failed attempts, and holding his hands in front of him, he began to move across the wooden boards.

-xXx-

Jack didn't know how long it took for him to appear before a door, but it was enough time to frustrate him into believing that he had finally reached his own quarters. He was exhausted and drunk, and wanted nothing more than to lie down. He had been wandering about for quite a while; surely he had been able to arrive at where he wished to be. Nodding wisely as he deduced this, he groped about for the door handle on the right side for a moment before recalling that it was actually on the left. With a snort of triumph, he twisted it open, letting it swing into the deeper darkness, followed it, and promptly tripped over his own feet. He fell onto the floor with a pained grunt, and remained there, letting his head lie on the ground.

It took Jack a bit to realize that he was not alone.

There was a mixture of quiet whimpering and scratching, about a foot or so away from him. It could have been a rat, which were abundant aboard the ship, but it sounded far too human. He was no fan of the rodent, but it was worth it to investigate. If it turned out to be a member of his crew, perhaps they would be able to direct him towards his quarters. Grunting from the exertion, he pulled his arm out from beneath his body and motioned in the area of the noise, trying to locate its producer. His bejeweled hand landed upon a mess of hair.

"'lo?" he inquired, looking up. There was no response, but the moaning ended with a sharp inhalation. He moved his hand further down, feeling about for a face to go with the tresses. His fingers were met with a sunken cheek.

"'ello?" he asked again, poking the face a bit sharply. "Who're you?"

The owner of the head did not move away, as would be expected, but instead was breathing heavily, quite frightened. This was an unusual reaction, for being prodded would not have scared most people. Jack squinted, struggling to see the features of the person he was touching.

He took a deep breath himself, when his eyes finally focused on her. It was the girl.

She too was lying on the floor, with a combination of great fear and curiosity on her face. He couldn't see the color of her peculiar blue eyes at that time, but could make out what direction they were focusing on: him. She was still sucking in air in terror, but appeared resigned now that he had found her. He had briefly wondered where she was staying during the day, but put it out of his mind. Gibbs would have known what to do with her, and taken care of it. However, Jack still didn't know where he was, as it was too dark to determine. Perhaps he would get lucky if he asked her, and she would tell him.

"This me room?" he questioned, waving his free hand about.

Her lips formed an _O_, but no response came forth from them. To her credit, it did appear as though she were trying to answer him. Even so, this did not help him in the slightest. He frowned, but before he could ask her again, she summoned the courage to shake her head no.

"Bugger. D'yeh know where it is?"

The girl once again indicated a negative reply, but this time used more emphasis, looking braver. Had Jack been of sober mind, he would have noted how much she looked like Celia at that moment, but he wasn't concentrating on anything but getting to his quarters.

"Tha's not good..." he muttered, then began to chuckle loudly. "Heh...we're both on th' floor...wait, why are yeh on th' floor?" He stopped laughing, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Have yeh been drinkin' me rum as well?"

For the third time, she shook her head, and accompanied this motion with a quiet "No."

Jack grimaced for a second longer, before relaxing his features. "All righ'. I b'lieve yeh, Gertrude."

"Eleanor," she whispered. "I'm Eleanor."

"Are yeh sure?" he asked, scratching his mane of dreadlocks in puzzlement. She nodded. "Eleanor, then..." Then suddenly, without any warning, he grinned at her pleasantly, a complete contrast to how he had treated her during the day. Her pale face was crossed by surprise, but became emotionless again. Jack had possibly only done this because he was so inebriated; even so, it had to be a nice change for the girl. "Eleanor, do yeh have any idea wha'soever about how teh get to me quarters?"

"No."

"This's a problem..." he mumbled, thinking hard about his surroundings and trying with all his power to recall exactly where he was, to no avail. "Well, I s'pose we best be rightin' ourselves and figgering ou' exactly where we oughta be, hm?" The girl gave her assent. "Up we go, then." Grunting, he pushed the upper half of his body into the air, and then stood shakily on his legs. Then, grinning victoriously, he pointed down at the girl. "Now yeh get up," he instructed.

She obeyed this command, but slowly, as was heavily hampered by her twisted limb. Jack scowled down at it.

"Wha's wrong with tha' leg?" he asked her, motioning towards it. She remained as passive as ever, though, and did not reply. Even though he was as drunk as he was, he sensed that inquiring about it would not provoke any sort of reaction, and using his breath to do so would be a waste.

"Fine..." he said, but more to himself than the child. "Well, I bes' be takin' off righ' 'bout now, I b'lieve."

She stood before him, simply staring him down as he made this statement.

"Wha', you wan' teh gimme a send-off? Very well." He aligned his body as straight as he could manage, pressing his feet together and holding his arms at his sides briefly. Then, with his right, he saluted her in what he considered to be a crisp manner. "Permission to leave, an' all tha'."

The girl suddenly had an expression that even the most oblivious man could have interpreted: extremely perplexed. Her little brow had furrowed, and she looked as though she might speak. The moment passed, however, and she returned to her natural unreceptive state. Jack let his arm down. Attempting to interact with her only proved fruitless, and so he wheeled about, facing the still opened door.

"G'bye," he muttered, waving his hand over his shoulder in her direction, before stepping back out of the room.

-xXx-

Ellie Brodruck had to admit, as she hopped back into the hammock, that her hope for anything resembling a normal life after her mother's death had been considerably diminished ever since she had gotten onto the Black Pearl. She hated the sea, yet there she was, trying to ignore how terribly her stomach was acting. She had desired nothing more than a father, but at that point in time had seen him drunk more than sober. It seemed that no matter how she felt about anything in her existence, the opposite of what she wanted to occur would happen. No house, no family. Even so...

For a brief second, she had caught a glimpse of benevolence in the man who had helped create her. Albeit, he had been incredibly intoxicated during that period, and they had both been lying on the floor due to their own handicaps – her bad leg and his drunkenness. But still, he had talked to her civilly. Right then, Ellie would seize any occasion or moment that would give her any amount of optimism and hold onto it for her life. And so, as she climbed back into her sleeping area, she let the slightest hint of a smile flit across her thin face, her aching heart warming the tiniest bit as she lowered herself down. Perhaps there would be no nightmare when she fell asleep again.

Abruptly, as her eyelids were beginning to drop, a shout came from outside the crew's quarters, accompanied by a crash. She jumped out of her peaceful reverie, frightened when she heard her father's voice once more.

"Where the _bloody hell_ am I?" he howled.


	6. Chapter 6

Er...it's been a while, eh? I'm very sorry for the late update; I've been super busy (in a play, finals, personal issues). I hope you forgive my shortcomings as a fanfiction author and review, though. I'd like to know if I've got the characterizations right. This chapterkind of cinches the Alternate Universe thing, since it doesn't correspond with the third movie.

Chapter Six

Jack squinted his dark eyes as he stared off into the distance, gazing at the glittering sea and burning sun. The morning light was, as usual, incredibly intense, but Gibbs had enough sense to raise one hand to his forehead to prevent it from reaching his face. This action hindered his steering of the wheel a great amount, but the captain was too deeply absorbed in his own thoughts to take notice of his crewmember's lack of commitment to his assigned task.

With every motion that Jack made, be it a sniff or sigh, Gibbs expected him to turn about and scold him. His disinterest in the duty at hand would provide the pirate with ample opportunity to boss him around and otherwise show off his power as the ship's commander. However, whatever was on his mind clearly inhibited his ability to take advantage of such a chance. Had the respite from his captain's usual barking not been so wonderful, he would have been more worried.

As it stood, however, the man's actions that morning had been quite abnormal. He had remained alone the previous evening, after giving no reason whatsoever for his current laconic state. Gibbs assumed he had proceeded to inebriate himself after taking off, which, he realized after giving it some thought, was not truly peculiar. But his pensiveness certainly was.

He could only assume it had something to do with the young girl who had appeared the day before. Before that moment, he had been perfectly fine. After that, though, the female and the man were similarly quiet, surrounded by the same sullen air. Gibbs believed that this petulance on Jack's part stemmed from the child's company. He was not able to speak for her.

As he pondered his captain's terse condition, the subject of his thoughts leaned his upper body against the railing he faced. This action was accompanied by a more pronounced frown, marring Jack's features with uncertainty. Gibbs had never seen the man in any position even slightly resembling the one he was currently in. To put it simply, the pirate was always confidant, self-important, and certain that doing whatever he did was the correct path to take. But he was on no account mystified by anything, ever.

This bewilderment affected everyone on board. It spread like a plague over the crew, clouding their tasks with hesitation. Gibbs was encircled by it as well. It was this puzzlement that filled him with the courage to attempt to break through the fog. The only method he could think of to do this, however, was by breaking through the silence between the two males.

"Jack?" he inquired, shifting the hand shielding his face a bit.

In response, Gibbs received far more than he expected: an irritated grunt from the captain, which he blindly interpreted as an invitation to interrogate him further.

"I was simply wondering: we set course this morning, but...where exactly are we going?"

Jack did not reply to this question for a moment, instead taking the time to scrunch his nose in contemplation. Finally, he turned to look toward Gibbs.

"How willing d'yeh believe a young married couple would be teh become parents?" he asked, resting his hand against the railing and tapping his fingers, heavily bedizened with rings, against the wood thoughtfully.

The first mate had to resist the urge to roll his eyes in aggravation. "I'm afraid I'm not certain," he told Jack, trying as best as he could not to let the mordacity creep into his voice. "But I would like to know-"

"Port Royal," the captain answered, before he returned to his previous stance, observing the gentle waves once more. After a split second, though, he looked back at Gibbs, a glimmer of his usual personality darting across his tanned face. "An' keep both yer hands on the bloody wheel."

-xXx-

It was, in all aspects of temperature, a lovely night. It was somewhat warm, but every now and then a cool breeze would cut through the heat like a sharpened blade. The shock of the contrast was powerful, but extremely refreshing. In spite of this pleasant characteristic, there was a considerable amount of repulsiveness that came from the sky. Thick, heavy clouds the shade of a half-healed bruise veiled the moon and stars. As a result, there was absolutely no light in the area.

This did not prevent Jack from stumbling across the cobblestones of Port Royal at that time. He'd been there enough times to gain at the very least a basic knowledge of the streets. Years of practice of wandering around places in the dark made the journey physically easy for him. There wasn't even any rum in his body to hinder his progress.

He could not say as much for his partner, who could only manage a single dragging step for every four he made. Consequently, he was forced to grab his cohort by the bony wrist and drag them along. This action may have embarrassed anybody else, but the one being towed along made no protest at all. If they had, Jack would not have listened.

Due to the rain-ridden clouds, it was impossible to see his face. If there had been enough illumination, though, it would have been easy to distinguish both nervous anticipation and, although the emotion really had no place being present then, minor amusement.

Usually at that time in Port Royal, there were people on the street. Most of them were drunks or others of a dubious occupation, but Jack did not mind them whatsoever. But the dark clouds in the atmosphere clearly meant rainfall would appear soon, which had undoubtedly provoked the nighttime inhabitants to search for shelter. Indeed, their absence was much more unnerving than their presence. A pirate never knew what bad weather could bring, after all.

Scrunching his nose worriedly as he lifted his head up towards the heavens, he pulled on his companion's arm once more and proceeded at a quicker pace than before. The other person objected to this hastening with a "Hurmph," which forced him to slow down somewhat. If they fell, it would only hamper them on their journey. Jack wished for nothing to interrupt what he was about to do.

He had visited his destination twice since regaining The Black Pearl. Both instances, it had been extremely late. This alone would have annoyed the occupants, but he had also chosen to enter the building through the window on the ground floor. This way in had provided his with his fair share of bruises, as he had fallen through the pane and onto the wooden floor. Actually, it had not been this clumsy arrival that had really injured him, but the beatings the resident had inflicted upon him as soon as he was discovered.

When he initially called on the house's dwellers, he had been drinking considerably. The second occasion, though, was just for his amusement. Although he was not sure if he could call the people inside friends, he did enjoy their company. Maddening them – especially the woman – was vastly entertaining, although it could be painful.

But the previous times he had been in his element – at least a little drunk, but more importantly, alone. Seeing as he now brought someone along, he knew that the situation was too serious. Jack was unable to think of any good reason to push both of them through the window. The gravity instead forced him to face the door of the house, and, in as courteous a manner as possible, rap his knuckles against the wood.

Jack stood still for several moments afterwards, wondering whether anyone had heard him knocking. It wouldn't be a tremendous problem if they hadn't; he'd just have to find another entrance, and he knew of many different ways to get into locked areas. But still, he had hoped for some propriety, for the sake of his companion.

Right before he was about to give up on decorum, however, his wish was granted. He heard an angry muttering coming from the opposite side of the wall. Clearly, one of the occupants did not enjoy being woken up at such a late hour, and Jack had a good idea of who it was. His suspicions were confirmed as the door finally swung open, revealing a young woman hurriedly attempting to pull her robe over her nightgown with one arm. The other limb supported a lit candle, illuminating her lovely yet irritated features.

She had not lifted her face to see who was at her door thus far, but Jack could still see her mouth moving. He could not tell what she was saying initially, for her words were intermingled with a large yawn. As he strained to hear, he could distinguish this complaint:

"This had better be good," she was muttering, as she finally managed to cover herself properly and raised her source of light. When she realized who was in front of her, however, she gave a shocked groan.

"Oh, dear _lord_, Jack..."

"Elizabeth...darling...it's been far too long, hasn't it? How positively wonderful-"

"Just get inside," she ordered exhaustedly, receding into the darkness of the house.

Jack permitted himself to smile, before looking about for his escort, who had hidden behind his legs. Shrugging, he stepped aside to allow her entry.

"After yeh," he said to her, gesturing at the interior of the abode.

-xXx-

The room now filled completely with light, Elizabeth Turner was free to reflect on how odd the sight in front of her was: Captain Jack Sparrow, one of the most notorious pirates on the seas, was sitting uncomfortably in one of her living room chairs, a little girl with a twisted leg standing beside him. The young woman, upon inquiring as to why the child was with him, received no answer. She had not noticed the new female straightaway, having been immediately distracted by the intruder's use of her candelabra (after removing the only stump of wax on it, he had utilized it to scratch his back).

But now that her husband, Will Turner, had joined them, and her only possession in danger at the moment was the piece of furniture Jack currently sat upon, she finally took note of the girl. She had not spoken since arriving at the Turners' house, but instead stared at its belongings and inhabitants. Her eyes, although striking, were a ghostly blue. They reminded Elizabeth of a sea touched by moonlight.

Will, however, had not been surprised by Jack's maltreatment of his wife's ornament. This left him with the acuity to realize how peculiar the girl's presence was. He did not express his wonder vocally, but simply allowed himself to raise his eyebrows questioningly. Elizabeth knew that he preferred to think about things in advance, even if he only had seconds to do so.

When presented with Jack Sparrow and a strange child at such a late hour – actually, it could probably be considered an early hour – Will somehow remained calm. Even his wife could not tell whether or not he was disturbed by the pair's arrival. Rather than involve himself in an argument concerning a candelabra like she did, he had motioned for both her and the pirate to sit down, while he and the girl remained standing.

The poor thing looked absolutely fatigued, and not a little nervous. Elizabeth felt a pang of sympathy for her, for she knew quite well how awful it was to be dragged along in one of Jack's capers. At least he seemed sober, compared to his last visit. No one had been able to remove the wine stain he had managed to leave behind.

But as much compassion as she had for the child, she could not recover from the shock she received from the spectacle of the dirty, rum-sodden man in her home. It was obvious that he felt less than comfortable there, judging by how awkwardly he placed his crossed legs. At least everyone in the room was distressed to some degree, although Elizabeth was unsure whether that gladdened her or not. The only time she'd ever seen Jack in any negative sort of temperament – by his standards - was when she had used his alcohol supplies to build a fire.

Indeed, the vindictive pleasure she experienced at the other man's expense was nothing contrasted to her unsettled nerves. Annoying and selfish as Jack usually was, she preferred it to this sudden loss of self-assurance. Anyone who did not know him well would not have seen its absence, but Elizabeth was quite familiar with him.

"Jack?" she finally asked, having cooled down after the quarrel involving the candelabra. "May I ask...what are you doing here? You don't appear to be drunk."

"Ah...tha's because I'm not."

Elizabeth resisted the urge to retaliate verbally to this sardonic retort by turning to face Will, who stood to her right. Before she could open her mouth and commence another fight, he gave her a quick nod and faced the opposite pair.

"What's your name?" he kindly inquired of the girl, who took a quick gasp of breath, ostensibly surprised by this abrupt attempt at communication. Finally, though, she was able to splutter out a response.

"Eleanor. Ellie."

"Jack, why are you here? Why is this child – Ellie, why is she here?" Elizabeth asked again, gesturing towards the girl, who clung a bit more closely to the back of Jack's chair. "It's almost dawn; she should be asleep – why is she traveling with you?"

"Business transaction," he replied, drawing in the air with his fingers. "Let me see...there was a man...an' rum, lots of rum. So he gave us the rum, an' we took the girl aboard as he wished. Well, actually, there was a bit of a mix-up – it appears as though I tried teh leave her on land...mistakes happen – but no matter, she got on the ship, an' tha's what really counts, eh?"

This explanation was met with blank stares, before Will finally stammered, "You offered to take care of a girl in exchange for rum?"

"As I said, it was a business transaction for the good of my ship. The rum keeps the crew happy and drunk enough not teh talk back or mutiny or anything of the like."

"You can't keep a child on a pirate ship," Elizabeth told Jack, her voice elevating in volume slightly. Will placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, undoubtedly trying to convey to her that she should remain composed.

"I'm well aware of tha', darling. Terrible conditions for a child, really. The crew's always drunk."

"Jack-"

"Will-"

"Jack, _what are you doing here_?" Elizabeth sharply questioned once more, cradling her head in her hand momentarily. The pirate jumped slightly.

"Oh., righ'. Well, it relates teh what we were jus' discussin'. A ship, however bloody magnificent it may be, is no place fer a child of her age." Jack gestured to Ellie, who cocked her head to the side and stared vacantly at the young couple. "At tha' age, they need – let me see." He held out his calloused hand and began tallying with his fingers. "They need teh be cherished, treasured, nurtured-"

"Clothed. Fed. Educated. Sheltered," Elizabeth joined in, her expression rapidly growing horrified. "Jack, dear god. You can't possibly expect-"

"You look hungry," Will interrupted, directing this comment at Ellie. The girl looked up at the man, her blank stare disappearing and leaving the hope of promised nourishment in its wake. "I think I might be able to scrounge up a few fresh biscuits from the kitchen. Care to join me?"

Ellie nodded, before limping over to the man. No matter how shy or introverted she was, she was hungrier. Her need for food outweighed her anxiety. It was because of this that she took Will's outstretched hand and permitted herself to be led deeper inside the house.

But as happy as the girl was at the moment, Elizabeth was more livid. She had just figured out why Jack had arrived at their house with a young girl in his custody, and it angered her.

"Jack. What were you thinking? You can't possibly expect us to – Jack – oh, god..." she faltered, her speech hindered by her displeasure. In an attempt to restore some semblance of tranquility, she took several deep breaths, her eyes closed. When she opened them again, she shrieked: Jack had managed to slip over to her chair soundlessly and now stood before her, his face bent close to hers.

"Hello," he said to her, grinning widely. Elizabeth nearly brought her hand up to slap him at that second, but was just able to restrain herself.

"Jack...please..."

"Righ', righ'. But I believe yeh would enjoy having a daughter. Yeh can dress 'er up in pretty clothes, an'-"

"Jack," Elizabeth began, in an irate whisper, "Will and I cannot take care of her. We're...we haven't been married long. We weren't thinking about children, and now-"

"Really? Yeh've always struck me as the motherin' type...yeh're continually yellin' at me, anyway."

"Jack, where are her parents? Who was taking care of her before you picked her up?"

"Grandfather. She was livin' with him briefly, I believe. As fer her mother...dead."

Elizabeth frowned, trying to think. "And her father?"

The man, looking uneasy, pulled back from her and crouched down on the floor, so that the woman's face was above his. Then, sighing, he muttered: "Er...strange coincidence, really. The girl's grandfather happened teh be the father of a previous...acquaintance of mine."

"And this acquaintance was her father?"

"Oh...not exactly. Said acquaintance was female."

It only took a moment for Elizabeth to grasp what he was trying to tell her.

"Jack, you...you have a...a daughter?" she asked, hardly believing the words now spilling out of her mouth could actually be true. Jack propped his chin on his fist, also looking quite troubled.

"Well, by no fault of my own, yes..."

-xXx-

As Ellie wolfed down the biscuits on the plate before her, she registered the young man's gaze upon her face. Although she was incredibly hungry, having only eaten a couple of apples and pieces of bread in the past two days, she was not at all used to the attention she was now getting from Will. His level gaze was kind, something she normally would have been grateful for, but she disliked how intensely he was scrutinizing her features.

He hadn't spoken much since they had entered the kitchen, of which she was appreciative. If he had kept interrogating her, she would not have been able to train her efforts on engorging the food on her plate. Besides, she did not want to be forced to speak beyond introducing herself. To Will's credit, he did not endeavor to get her to converse. In fact, he seemed perfectly content to watch the little girl fill herself without saying a word.

The silence between the pair was a pleasure, for it allowed Ellie to take in both the nourishment and the sight of the quiet finery. For the first time in days, she could rest her feet without worrying about being tossed onto the floor of a rocking ship. After a while at sea, she realized how much she truly enjoyed land. From the time when she arrived, she had not felt the urge to vomit, and it was easier to manage her twisted leg when she wasn't oscillating. Will himself had been quite patient with her physical hindrance. Rather than picking her up and carrying her about like her father did, he had waited for her to catch up as they walked.

Ellie was exhausted, for Jack had woken her up in the middle of the night and compelled her to walk about Port Royal with him. It hadn't been a pleasant experience, for she would have much preferred to sleep than go gallivanting around a strange, pitch-black town. However, getting a good meal was worth it. She could almost feel her belly stretching to accommodate the food now within her. As objectionable as the night had begun, it had taken quite a good turn, in her opinion. Even though Will was studying her facial attributes intently, he appeared to be nice enough, and getting fed was a benefit.

The welcome silence, however, was shattered a second later, as a shout came from the living room. Astonished, Ellie dropped the biscuit in her small hand onto the plate, choking on a particularly large mouthful. A few deep coughs removed the obstruction, but she still took a moment to regain her breath, her head swiveling to look toward the area that the disturbance had originated from.

Will, too, had been surprised, and jumped to his feet. Upon hearing the girl's respiratory difficulty, he had turned to face her. As soon as he recognized that she was fine, he had told her "Stay here," before running off in the direction of the commotion.

After he had vanished from sight, Ellie grabbed the half-finished biscuit and a whole one, shoving them into the pocket of her dress. Then, reasoning that if she were quiet, the adults would not notice her presence at the doorframe, she shuffled off to the vicinity of the turmoil.

In the room where she had left her father and Will's wife, the woman had stood up from her chair. Jack was right in front of her, his face screwed up in a mixture of jocularity and worry. Elizabeth was screaming at him, her cheeks an angry pink, gesturing angrily. She was speaking far too quickly for Ellie to decipher anything, but the other two men seemed to understand perfectly.

Will had grabbed his wife's arm, in an attempt to calm her down. It did not work, though, for she simply pulled away from him and continued gesticulating violently.

"Jack, you have to take respons-"

"I am! See, tha's why I'm here."

"You have to leave. You have to – oh, _Jack_-"

Jack's face, as he watched the woman begin to break down, was suddenly absent of the earlier hilarity. It looked as if he had finally realized how much he had disturbed her, and although he did not seem remorseful, he clearly planned on taking action. As Ellie become aware of the man's emotions and thoughts, he turned to face her.

"There yeh are," he muttered, beckoning for her to come forward. "We're leavin'." As she joined him, he clasped her wrist and led her over to the entrance. "Don' worry, I'll show meself out," he announced to the couple, as Will tried to console to his fuming wife. With that, he shoved Ellie outside before shutting the door.

Inside, Elizabeth was breathing a bit harder than normal. "The _nerve_, Will. I mean, he expects us to clean up his messes. That girl is his-"

"-daughter," Will finished for her. She frowned.

"How did you know?" she asked, in a tone quieter than before.

"Her eyes, I suppose. I saw them, and...wait, what did he want?"

-xXx-

The entire rest of the night, neither Will nor Elizabeth could sleep. Rather than discussing in great detail the events that had just transpired, they had simply lain in bed together, staring up at the ceiling without a word. Jack had ventured to place an enormous burden on them only a few hours before, and even though they had not been the ones to take responsibility, it still had left them agitated.

It had begun to rain a few minutes before they had finally given up on any hope of sleep and rose. The weather made it a bit chilly, anyway, and both of them preferred to move about in an effort to warm up. Will remained upstairs, getting dressed for work, while Elizabeth had head downstairs for breakfast, still in her nightgown. She disliked wearing the painful fashions of the day, and so stayed in her more comfortable clothing as long as possible. After all, the only people around at that time of the day were her husband and their housemaid, whom she felt quite at ease with.

As Will dressed himself, he heard Elizabeth call from the first floor: "Will, did you leave this plate of biscuits out on the kitchen table?"

He moaned. In the excitement of the earlier hours, he had completely forgotten about the exposed food. "Yes. Sorry about that." At any rate the poor girl had eaten her share of it. Will could only imagine what it would be like to know one was related to Jack. She definitely deserved a good meal, at the very least.

With that final thought, he tied his dark brown hair back into its customary ponytail, as he started to head towards the stairs. His shoes provided a heavy tramping, but because Elizabeth was awake at the same time, he did not try to silence the noise as he usually did. As he set his foot down on the final step, however, a loud shriek accompanied the sound of the stomp. Flinching, he looked up to see his wife rush by him, her face alarmed. She was hurrying towards the front door, her bare feet sticking slightly to the wooden floor.

"Elizabeth?" Will inquired, following her over.

Elizabeth fumbled with the knob. "I saw her from the window. Jack-"

She at last was able to open the door, and Will gasped at the sight before them.

"_Ellie_?" he asked, pushing past his wife to see.

The girl stood in front of them, her peculiar eyes as vacuous as ever. In her hand was a biscuit from the night before, edged with teeth marks and slightly damp from the rain. Her hair was wet as well, plastered to her head in straggly locks. Her dress was soaked as well, but none of this appeared to matter to her.

"How long have you been there?" Will questioned, anxious. There was no time for the child to respond, for Elizabeth now interjected.

"Where's Jack?" she asked, her voice similar to the tone she had used the previous night. Her face was darkened with fear and ire.

Ellie did not answer, but instead cocked her head to the side, her biscuit clasped close to her chest.


End file.
